Monday, July 14, 2008

A word about yoga

Sophie has yoga camp today.  She LOVES it.  I signed her up at the studio where I used to take yoga but stopped several months ago.  Because, as I came to find out, I fucking hate yoga.

Ok.  That was a little strong.

Thing is, I used to really love it.  Sure I'd feel a little uncomfortable (read: like a beached whale) sometimes, but generally managed to push through it.  Not so much anymore.

It's a lot of little things, I guess.  The phrase that goes through my head about 80 times whenever I go to a class, "Why don't you shove it up your perfect little enlightened ass?" kind of sums it up though.

See, WAY back in the day when I was still going to church, people would sit around, talking (read: bragging) about "feeling the spirit."  It's a Mormon thing.  And I'd sit there feeling like shit on a stick, because I wasn't feeling it.

Enter the yoga folk.  And their cleansing breaths.  And their flowing energy.  And I find myself back there on the pew, wondering if they are full of sparkly, enlightened bullshit, or if I'm somehow inherently flawed because I'm not getting it.

Add being surrounded by teeny bendy bodies, while mine is neither teeny, nor bendy (I have boobs people.  Laying on my stomach and trying to raise my legs is uncomfortable and embarassing.  And don't even ask me to turn upside down until there have been some serious, serious advancements in the field of boob support, because I'm likely to be smothered by my own tits.)

Yeah, yeah, I know it's not a competition, and that I'm suppose to modify and blah, blah, blah.  Also, it hasn't escaped my attention that the root of the problem is (possibly) ME and not a centuries old practice embraced by millions.

But I still fucking hate it.

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