Friday, August 8, 2014

Releasing My Inner Orgasmic Yogi

I have long been a lover of yoga.

For lots of reasons.

It forces a crazy, neurotic, OCD girl like me to pause, breathe, take in the moment, recalibrate, and come back to my busy life ready to take it on again.

And so it was last night, after an exhausting day of refereeing arguments between the kiddos (it is definitely the end of summer), that I found myself straddling two choices:  lay on the couch with the remote watching mindless television or head to the studio and get my Zen on.

The challenge was that the only class left for the night was an advanced know, where the instructor calls out the poses and the students, presumably know what they're doing and fall in line.

Who gives a shit, I thought?  What's the worst that can happen?  They boot me out because I suck?  My new mantra was, "Fuck it!" At the very least, I know that there's a guaranteed Savasana (laying on your back and relaxing with your eyes closed and the lights off) at the end.

I walk in.  It's dark.  There are maybe 6 people in the room and Andi McDowell (see visual below) at the front...the hot, middle-aged, semi-southern accented instructor.

I take my place alongside a hot man, probably in his 20's...they were all probably in their 20's...young, fit, not a dark circle of sleep deprivation in the lot of them.

Andi McDowell begins by having us walk our legs up the wall and tells us to get comfortable because we're going to be spending a lot of time here and then she cues this oddly charming Yanni yoga music.  I find myself wanting to fall asleep and meditate at the same time except that my ass is in the air and I fear that a fart may fight it's way out at anytime.  Focus, damn it.  Focus.

Feeling in an otherworldly, twilighty sort of state, I hear her say, "There's going to be a full moon on Sunday, did you know that Nicholas?"

To which, hot guy on the wall next to me, exhales deeply and says, "Beautiful, Lynn...just beautiful."


What was that?  Do the middle aged hot yoga teacher and college boy have a thing going on? 

Moving vigorously (hence the advanced part) in and out of Down Dog to Up Dog then to Cobra, Cat/Cow....I see her out of the corner of my eye come over to Nicholas with her phone.  What the fuck?  She begins taking pictures of his feet and says slowly and southernly...

"Do you remember, Nicholas, when I said that yoga is all about the feet?"

Sweet Jesus...they're going to do it right here while everyone is catatonically moving through their flow.

And then, she starts to breathe and everyone else starts to breathe and alternately moan and then, I do and then, I'm sweating and then, I'm closing my eyes and then, I'm mesmerized by her voice and then, I'm drinking the Kool-Aid.

Short of the no "Happy Ending" part, the Savasana talk was amazing.  And upon rolling up my yoga mat, I class ever and the only reason this deal is classified as "Advanced" is because people are having mind sex with each other.

Holy Cat Cow!

I know what I'm doing next Thursday night.


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