Yoga

I can't touch my toes. I've never been able to reach them.

Ever!

I've always blamed this on my height. Tall guys just weren't supposed to bend like other people.



I remembered this as I headed into the Yoga studio for my first time. If I couldn't touch my toes what in the Hell was I doing there?

It didn't help when a man a couple of mats down from me took off his shirt. I really started questioning my decision as I looked at his hairy chest and his tight biker shorts. I started imagining all the poses he was going to be doing and I began getting a little queasy.

About 5 minutes into the class I am dripping sweat trying to balance on one toe while twisting my other limbs into a knot. I keep waiting for the chanting and meditation but it is just pose after pose. The instructor is calling out the names of poses, names that sound a little explicit to my virgin yoga ears, in rapid succession. I'm not quite sure what to do so when the class all faces left, I look right...into the crotch of the shirtless yoga dude!

About halfway through I quit fixating on hairy chest and noticed there were a couple of folks worse off than me and I started feeling a little better. Nothing like someone else's misery to cheer me up.

At the end I actually got to do the meditation pose. You know the one you've done all your life to make fun of mediation? There I sat in a room full of adults, all sitting cross-legged and touching thumb to index finger, Hmmmmmm, Hmmmmmm......

Yeah I'm totally going back.



No really I'm back next week. Just have to find me some good lycra.



Now I'm one of those "cool" people who can nonchalantly say "oh I was just at yoga."



If only I could order a non-fat, soy, Venti, Latte!!