SanFranciscoSooner

Sweating Balls, Funny Farts, and Putting Body Parts in Unnatural Positions. Or Yoga. And Derogatory Adjectives.

12 Aug 2010 4 Comments

by sanfranciscosooner in Athletic Triumphs, New Adventures, Things I Learn from Wikipedia Tags: Birkam yoga, karma, Lululemon, new adventures, san francisco, the mission, Vespa, yoga, zen

I have a new addiction, and that addiction is Bikram Yoga.

If you don’t know what Bikram yoga is, let me enlighten you: Bikram yoga classes are 90 minutes long, during which, you perform 26 postures in a room that is heated to 105 degrees with a humidity of 40 percent. It’s also known at hot yoga, for obvious reasons. And you sweat your balls off. Not kidding. Sweat will be pouring from your body like it’s nobody’s business. And sometimes you kind of feel like you’re going to pass the fuck out, but that’s totally normal.

I had done Bikram a couple of times before I signed up for a month of unlimited classes, and thought it was pretty awesome, but didn’t end up going consistently. But that is not the case this time. I am hooked. I find myself planning my nights out around my yoga schedule … and (GASP!) even going to the 6:15 a.m. class before work sometimes. And if you know me, you will know how big of a deal that is. I love my sleep.

But ever since I have started going I have encountered things that are hilarious, not so zen, and downright alarming  in the yoga classroom. Here are a few of my favorites:

The days when I show up to yoga and I am there because of my addiction, not necessarily because I want to be all zen and relaxed and all that bullshit. The class starts and I am calling the instructor every dirty word I can think of (in my head, obviously). How dare this biotch tell me to push harder, my god damn toe is coming out of the back of my head. I’ll push you harder. Those days are always fun.

The point in the class where I can feel a long hair clinging to my body somewhere and when I finally take the time to pull it from me, it is 3 feet long and pitch black. Clearly not mine. Ew.

The point in the class where I literally think that I am going to die from all the effort … and then the dude next to me rips ass. And I fall out of my pose, and laugh, and people give me dirty looks. Sorry for thinking farts are funny.

The point in the class where I’m standing with my legs spread and my head is in between my legs and I’m staring at the floor that is about a foot away, and the instructor says: “Roll forward, feel the stretch, touch your head to the floor. Touch your forehead to the flood. Touch. Your. Forehead. To. The. Floor.” I laugh. Never gonna happen.

The point in the class when I am standing with my face pressed into my shins and I am breathing really hard in and out my nose, and then I inhale the sweat that is now running up my face, and have to swallow it. That’s always a welcome and appetizing surprise. Not.

The morning that I drive my brand new Vespa to yoga and when I come outside after class, I realize that someone has backed into it, knocked it over, broken the light, and not left a note. I know, right? The DAY after I got it.

My new Vespa!

That same morning, I go home, park my broken Vespa, and as I am fumbling with my mail key, some douche-bag-ass-hole-mother-effing-cock-sucking-cum-gargling-prick steals my YOGA MAT out of my backpack. MY YOGA MAT! Who the fuck steals a yoga mat?! That is like the worst karmatic (yeah, I made it up, so what) thing you could possibly do.

What my pretty Lululemon yoga mat looked like ...

I hope that asshole breaks something while he’s trying to put his god damn forehead on MY yoga mat.

Namaste mother fucker.

♥Nikki

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