I decided to go ahead and get off my ass and go to yoga. In the end, i chose to go, because, even though i hate to exercise and i especially hate women who exercise and have little boy hips, i can go to yoga in my flip flops. There really is something to getting dressed for a workout by putting on your flops that makes you think, this is not gonna be that bad. My yoga pants are pretty flattering, too. There is a nice seam across the middle of my rear that makes it look half the size it is. Another added incentive to dressing for yoga.
Last week, I went to Pat's class for the first time in about a year. I think after I ran (okay, more like waddled) the half marathon, my body decided that it completed a year's worth of the exercise it needed. Now, the year is over (last weekend was the Country Music Marathon) and its time to get back to work. Unfortunately, Pat didn't get the memo that this was my first time back and she decided to try out something I'd like to refer to as Yoga Torture. I left after 45 minutes of doing every fourth pose. I think she got confused and thought she was teaching the aerobics class. We sat in "chair" for 3 minutes, same with "plank". Like I said, I walked out and went to Kroger to buy some chips and dip.
This week was much better, though. After being convinced by some Facebook friendly-fire, I got motivated to lace up my flip-flops and head in. Pat was much nicer today and remembered that yoga isn't really about exercise, but about pretending to. Breathing loudly while standing in "Warrior 1" is definitely my kind of workout. Half way through the hour we laid on our backs and centered our minds. I particularly enjoy the part where we relax are hips and let our navels collapse. It's really tough work. I also love doing "The Swan". I get to look at my smartly pedicured toes, over and over.
There is one girl in class that takes Yoga a bit too seriously, though, and I am debating whether or not to tell her. She exhales like an exploding tire and I wonder if that can't be good for her. She looks great in her yoga pants, too. She stands in front with all the other skinny girls who have those little boy hips I mentioned. But, our instructor, Pat, has healthy hips, so I can keep going without too much inner criticism.
That's what yoga is all about, anyways: Quieting that inner critic so balance happens, inside and out. If I can just get them to serve guacamole during class, I think I will be able to find perfect peace.