Tag Archives: Yoga

Thank you sir, may I have another?

7 Mar

I’ve been practicing yoga pretty regularly for a few years now. For the first three years, I was a member at Flow Yoga Center in Logan Circle. It’s a great studio – very homey/crunchy with friendly teachers who go out of their way to learn your name. But when my membership expired in November, I decided to explore a few of the other local studios to see if I could find an equally good fit closer to my house.

I’ve now tried two other studios – Tranquil Space in Dupont and Stroga in Adams Morgan. It’s actually been a fun experiment, and by taking advantage of new student specials or online coupons, I’ve saved a ton of money in the process. (Unlimited monthly yoga is usually around $125/mo. I’ve spent an average of $45/mo during this process without scaling back my yoga at all.)

Anyway, all of this is just preamble to tell you about this morning’s yoga experience. As soon as I signed up for the class online, I regretted it. It’s called “Signature Stroga” and billed as an intense hour of strength-building cardio. Not exactly what I was feeling for a rainy (read: lazy) Sunday morning, but the timing was ideal.

So I went. And it was every bit as brutal as I expected. The class vaguely resembled an aggressive vinyasa class, but with an exponential number of push-ups, squats, and lunges. The instructor, a woman named (no lie) Olga, issued commands with a Russian accent and was oddly cheerful for someone  who seemed to be striving to make us pee blood before the hour was over.

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Random Thought: I need some transcendental medication.

29 Nov

Over the weekend I started battling some kind of bug. Since I have to travel for work this week, I decided to throw everything at it.

I slept a ton. I drank a pitcher of orange juice. I doubled my vitamin intake. I practically bathed in green tea. I flushed my sinuses with a neti pot. And I went to yoga for a restorative practice with the thought that it might help stimulate my lymph production. (Um, yes. I might not go in for astrology or some of the other freaky shit, but I definitely will give a nod to natural/holistic remedies when it comes to health.)

So last night I went to yoga and had a few very random – and not very zen – thoughts. Without further ado…

Ugh. This is stupid. I should be home under a blanket.

I wonder if I’ll make anyone else sick?

I should try not to look sick so people won’t get upset with me for being here.

I bet I have “sick breath.”

I’m really glad they have a bowl of lifesavers in each classroom.

That’s a nice touch.

They should also have a bowl of BeanO.

How funny would that be?

I wonder if that guy with uncontrollable farts switched studios.

Or maybe he wasn’t embarrassed. He didn’t seem to be.

If I lost control like that, I think I’d be mortified.

I wonder if anyone would recognize me after that?

I don’t think I’d recognize that guy in a police line-up.

I guess I could always cut my hair rather than switch studios.

It’s funny how people often identify people based on their hair.

And now, as I look at this, I realize: 80% of my blog content is about farts, yoga or farts at yoga. Perhaps in 2011 I will rename it “PithyPants and Stinky Mats.”

Sure, you’ve heard of a Dutch Oven.

20 Oct

Wait. This *doesn't* scream "yoga" to you?

Remember that tubby kid in in sixth grade gym class who accidentally farted when the class did sit-ups?

Yep. Well, I’m here to tell you: he’s now 45-years-old and occupied the mat next to me at yoga tonight.

We started the class by warming up with some toe touches – and I heard him fart. I wish I was more mature, but instead, I snuck a peek around the room, trying to make eye contact so I could lift my eyebrows with a “did-you-hear-that-shit?” kind of look on my face. Alas, the other women were more mature.

Miraculously, I held it together. (Perhaps because no one was encouraging me to behave like I was ten.)

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It’s not that I like to see people fail…

17 Jul

… it’s that I like to see braggarts get punished for, well, bragging.

I’ve been practicing yoga regularly for 2.5 years and continue to see value in a Flow 1 class, though I routinely hit more advanced classes. The beauty of yoga is that you can challenge yourself at any level.

So I don’t announce to the Flow 1 class that I’ve been practicing yoga for 2.5 years, that I’m capable of relatively sophisticated arm balances, and that – if the teacher were to abandon us – I’m relatively confident I could step into her place and deliver a class that ran almost as smoothly. I don’t do that because – on any given day, I *am* a Flow 1 student. My body doesn’t always cooperate. Some days I’m more exhausted or weak than others and plugging through a 90 minute class even doing the minimum is a challenge.

Anyway, back to my point: Apparently not everyone has learned humility. I say this because last week I hit a Flow 1 class at my local yoga studio and – as I grabbed my mat – I overheard a girl signing in say, “I’m a yoga teacher, visiting from out of town.”

I did a double-take because her body did not seem to fit the mold of a person who was so dedicated to yoga that she had logged the requisite hours to get certified as a teacher. I know, that sounds mean, but let’s just agree that there’s a “look” common to most yoga teachers. And while most are svelte, even those that aren’t tend to have some pretty obvious biceps and triceps. This girl looked soft.

She continued on with her conversation, and I mentally rolled my eyes as I went into the room to get set up for class. Of course, about two minutes later she walked in and rolled her mat out next to me. When the teacher arrived – a tough instructor named Terrance whose classes all provide a fairly brutal work out – he asked if anyone had any injuries he should be aware of. Most people passively shook their heads, but Eager Beaver to my left piped up. “I’m a yoga teacher!” she announced.

Terrance looked at her with a blank expression along the lines of, “And your point is?” before recovering and saying, “Welcome. I hope you enjoy the class.”

As it turns out, I’m going to say that “enjoyment” is not exactly the word for what she took from the class. It became obvious early that she was in over her head. While the rest of us pushed through some fast-moving vinyasas, she collapsed onto her mat in Child’s Pose.

I know yoga isn’t supposed to be a competitive endeavor, and you shouldn’t judge anyone since every person’s “edge” is different. However, when someone marches in repeatedly announcing to the world that she’s a “pro,” then promptly has her ass handed to her – well, I guess that’s just human nature to take a little pleasure in that. And I’ve never claimed I’m a true yogi. Unlike this dude:

This is disturbing on so many levels. Let me assure you that when I practice yoga, I: a) wear a shirt, b) do not put my (figurative) ball sack on display, and c) don't look like I'm about to seduce someone while listening to Yanni. But I hope you already knew all that about me.

I hate it when that happens.

15 Jun

If both of these are YOUR feet, it's cool. If one is not, it's AWKWARD.

So one of the most awkward category of human encounters I can think of is when someone is touching you without realizing it.

You know what I’m talking about: When you’re grabbing lunch with a client and somehow someone plants their foot right on top of yours without realizing it. And you either respond quickly and slide your foot away, or – more commonly – freeze, hoping they’ll adjust their foot and you can reposition yours without them noticing. But then they DON’T move theirs, and you sit there, unable to fully engage in conversation, because you are so fixated on holding that foot PERFECTLY STILL. Because now a decent period of time has passed, enough that if you DO move your foot, they are going to think you a freak for not having just pulled it away when they first stepped on it.

Right? This has happened to you, too, right?

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