Side note: I re-read my previous article and I hope no one thinks I am a drug addict (a la Debbie Allen when she guest starred on a very special two-part "Good Times" as JJ's fiancee). I just would like to find my makeup bag, that is all...
The stress of which offers a great segue for me to complain about my yoga class. The one that I missed yesterday, but oddly do not feel so bad about since I was dreading it anyway. The yoga class that is supposed to help lower my cholesterol (which it has not) and that is supposed to bring me namaste for an hour (which it does not).
Yoga sucks! There I said it. So all of you New Age om-chanting psychos can go kick rocks!
Backtrack: The husband and I decided to take up yoga in 2009 after a particularly stressful time period in both of our lives. It was my duty to research the local yoga scene to select the most appropriate class since we were both beginners. To the uninitiated, finding a yoga studio is relatively easy in this city since its latest incarnation as the East Coast San Francisco. We have bike lanes, coffee shops, free wi-fi and organic food available in practically every neighborhood, so you would be hard pressed not to find a yoga studio.
Of course, the trick was in differentiating among the various types of yoga offered. I could not tell you the benefits of ashtanga vinyasa over hatha or iyengar yoga, but I can tell you that I am clearly in the wrong line of business--the average price of a yoga class is $20-25 per person per class. For the two of us, one class cost more than a monthly gym membership!
We settled on the more affordable yoga classes offered at my dance studio, where we got a chance to take a free two hour trial class. Can I tell you that there are three things about that first class that I will never forget: (1) the instructor spoke mostly in Hindu; (2) it was hotter than July in there and it was early May; and (3) that those were the longest two hours of torture I have ever endured in my life!
We enrolled in a less strenuous mid-week class. For me, the class was just ok--not much of a challenge once I learned all of the basics, but I stuck with it because it fit into my already hectic schedule. For the husband, the stiffest man alive, the class was perfect, especially since the instructor was a perky, petite, blonde Yankees fan who cursed. She only spoke to me to inquire about his whereabouts, but could talk baseball with him for hours. Her occasional substitute, a little African lady, was much friendlier, but she too had an obvious preference for the husband. She laughed at all of his stupid jokes and actually expressed concern when he failed to make it to class one day.
We got a new instructor in January which has been traumatic for the husband because the class is harder. On the other hand, it has been great for me because she takes the time to explain things and makes recommendations for improvement. But then last week everything changed...it started when some random old lady made a snarky comment about how she hated arriving to class late because it was so rude, blah, blah blah. Then while I was changing in the bathroom, the instructor kind of passive-aggressively asked if I could do a better job of getting there on time. Later when talking to the husband, who NEVER gets there on time, she somehow failed to make the same sweet little request.
Well guess what yoga lady, some of us live on the other side of town and have to drive with the traffic at the height of rush hour to get there! Some of us run small businesses and do not have IT people around to fix untimely computer meltdowns that occur at 4:45pm! Some of us think that your loopy pre-pose lectures are more than a little weird and have to stifle the urge to say "come on yoga lady" when you drone on about whatever in Hindu--a language that none of us understands!
Thus once again, he is the teacher's pet while I am treated like the pest! This is in spite of the fact that unlike the husband, I am a pretty decent yoga student. I actually practice outside of class. I can actually execute most of the poses. I have gotten better at using my breath. But all they can ever manage to say to me is something snarky about being late every once in a while. Really?
So there, now you know why the BBW does not find anything relaxing about yoga...I've got to keep an eye on these flirtatious b*&%$ who are hitting on my husband!