Yogaman

The Dude and I did yoga together last night. I've been on his case to, basically, live better. No more smoking. Less canabis and less fast food. More vegetables. Going to the doctor and the dentist. See, this is why married men live longer. This is not unique to me. This is what women tend to do, mostly I think because most men (the straight ones anyway) left to their own devices often shrug off things like regular check-ups, and don't mind putting too much of the wrong stuff in their bodies all the time: booze, fried food, tobacco and/or the wacky weed.

I think what ultimately got me to push the yoga, though, was the constant aching over a sore shoulder, his stiff muscles from work, and would I please massage him. He's good at asking, too. The big eyes that roll into a painful squint as he moans and starts to rub his own shoulders with a grimace.

But I am no trained masseuse, and if he's really in that bad of shape (And not just angling for massages the way Smokey angles for wet food, howling pitifully for it when there's dry food right in front of him), then a few haphazard backrubs from me isn't going to do anything.

So we went together to this little place down the street. And it was fun and relaxing. And it occurs to me that other than movies, I've never really had a shared hobby or anything with a boyfriend before. It was nice. We left feeling loosened up and in a good mood. I'm also going to take Pilates there as well.

I really wish I took this much of an interest in health five years ago. But then five years ago I wasn't getting gray hairs, or fine lines. May sound ridiculous, but until I saw those first signs of aging, I hadn't really considered I wouldn't stay young forever. My 20s have flown by way too fast.

I have a shower to attend tomorrow. I hope there will be cake.

So maybe I like it

So as it turns out, I kinda like hot yoga. The first time I was unprepared for the level of heat and exhaustion. This time the class sort of flew by. And it's always the same routine, which really helps the minutes tick away. Also, amazingly, after only my second class, I was able to touch my toes in certain stretches, something that has never happened for me before ever.

Yes, I'm 27.5 years old and this is a first. Fancy that, eh?

You know, it's kind of funny. The things you think you're going to like or get into or even try are so far off base when you're a teenager. When I was 13-15, I wanted to learn guitar. Now, I have about zero musical ability, and in fact I tried to learn piano for about five years. I never really progressed and strangely the year I quit I stopped understanding math. Buzuh?

Anyway, I thought it'd be cool to learn guitar. I also wanted to learn to ride horses. I did ride a horse once when I was 20 and I didn't care for it. Plus, as it turns out, large animals make me nervous. I mean, they're neat and I like to look at them and I enjoy the idea of a horse, but yeah. That's about it.

When I was 15 I thought I was going to wait for marriage to have sex. I thought that would happen by 25 and then I'd start having babies. I was also pro-life (because virgins don't have to worry about that sort of thing, and it's easy to lack empathy when it's not your problem).

Pretty much you never know what you're going to do or like. Hell, I didn't even think I liked peppers, green beans, zucchini (See a pattern here? I thought I hated vegetables), tomatoes, oranges, eggs, brown bread...

And now I'm belly dancing, eating Indian food and stirfry, living with my boyfriend, now taking up yoga and generally not doing or being anything I had planned on doing or being. Is this really how long it takes a person to figure out who they are? Almost 30 years?

Huh.

Hot Yoga: Sweat Bath of the Ages

I did hot yoga yesterday. I was effing drenched in ways and places I never knew was possible.

So I get there 20 minutes early, thinking I should sign up, change, stretch, blah blah blah. First step into the studio I was hit by a wave of humidity. The working conditions of the reception area struck me as a type of hell. But I was determined.

So I change and go into the classroom 10 minutes early and holy Christ on a bike, it was even hotter. I suddenly question my decision and kick myself for coming so early because now I'm stuck in this room longer than I have to be.

There's this guy in there about 60 years old with a body that looks like it means some lean angry business. You know when you see a young beefcake and he kind of looks bloated and puffed up? Like if he stops working out for a week he'll deflate? These muscles on this older guy were mature looking, the kind you can only imagine from long-term constant reliable use. These muscles were a lifetime in the making. He was bald, topless and looked like he'll probably live another 40 years.

So eventually others file in and the instructor arrives and points out I'm a newcomer and that I should just try to stay in the room, if I can manage it. So I'm thinking WTF and then she tells me I might get faint or nauseous. Well fuck.

So we do these deep breath stretches, and I don't who who else is aware of this, but breathing in humid hot air is a damn chore. It's hard, man. Like I could not do it. This is just the initial breathing, too. I had trouble with the breathing part.

So I'm looking over at the older guy, who resembles a more badass version of Mr. Clean, and he's already beading up a sweaty storm. I'm definitely damp and clammy at this point, but this guy's really melting like a snowman.

After several poses, I want a drink of water and I'm told I'm not allowed yet. No, we have to finish this one pose before we drink anything. Well.

So around the hour mark (and this is a 90-minute class) we finally get to sit down. I am soaking in my own juices. My hair looks like it is trying to abandon ship and each strand is every woman for herself. I look down at my legs and not only do they remind me of under ripe strawberries, but I can actually see water seeping out of the pores. I feel the unsettling sensation of water dripping all over my body without having had any water poured on me. I look over at Mr. Clean and a steady stream of sweat is literally trickling onto his towel.

During various poses sweat dribbles into my mouth and up my nose. My clothes are wet and heavy. And finally with 15 minutes to go I allow myself to collapse, where I lay on the ground and just ride the rest of the class out.

Leaving the class into the slightly less humid reception room was refreshing, peeling off my sopping clothes was a relief, the shower felt incredible. When I finally left the studio I couldn't even handle how good I felt. And suddenly the whole hot yoga thing made sense. You don't go for the actual yoga, you go for how you feel afterward.

In my still clammy and sweaty glory men were checking me out en route home, I slept like a baby at a reasonable hour and got up feeling refreshed at a normal time. The Dude told me I was glowing today.

So frig. Do I, as an adult, take up a hellish activity for the benefits? Or do I quit after one class and feel guilty every time I walk past the studio on the way for ice cream?

Time will tell, I suppose.

Hot Yoga

When I was 17-- hell, when I was 22 even-- I gave not a shit about vegetables or exercise. I made an attempt at tai chi in my early 20s and eventually gave up because I couldn't be bothered. I didn't like zucchini or peppers until I was about 24. I didn't take up dance until around then either.

Oh, the wasted years of mediocre health. I was doing pilates and enjoying it until I moved last October and my fragile routine crumbled under the change. I've been wanting something else to complement dance since (Anything for flexibility) and for some reason I can't seem to force myself to take the trip into town to get back into it.

So this week I start hot yoga. Frankly, I could stand to lose a few pounds and this is an activity I can do a few minutes from my house. Even on my laziest days I think I could make myself go. And I do get a lot of lazy days where video games and the internet have a much stronger draw than doing anything that would be to my physical benefit.

I bought new workout clothes to motivate myself. Also, it being hot yoga means lots of laundry. And I'm not going to go if every two classes I have to do a load to be able to go again.

I'm really hoping that this is going to be something that sticks. Of course I actually have to start. Maybe once I do I'll finally be able to touch my toes. I'd like to be able to do that before I hit 30. I mean, frig. If I don't get my ass cracking on my health and flexibility now in my 20s, I'm kind of screwed for the future, right?

I miss being able to eat McDonalds with no repercussions.