That's right I jumped on the bandwagon. I am officially one of "those girls" who does yoga. Or at least I thought I was. I know the postures, even some of the names. The term downward facing dog doesn't make me giggle anymore - although the shear idea of "Happy Baby" still does. I have my own yoga mat, attire and I finally, yes finally embraced the "Ohm" although why we do it escapes me. I even say namaste and bow at the end of my practice; so yes I like to think my hot mess self can fake it through a yoga class (although the whole time I am aspiring to be the non hot mess in the front of the room - you know her she's that one in head to toe Lulu Lemon w/ coordinating mat...she weighs 115 lbs and what is the secret to her pouf? The entire 90 minutes upside down, in the twist, lying on the floor, standing on her head and her f'ing pouf is still intact as is her perfect natural makeup that says I'm not wearing any - Yeah you know her and you can't hate her because your hot messy self wants to be her). Anway I digress. I finally decide after several attempts at other yoga places and free yoga at Lulu Lemon on Wednesdays (which is normally fabulous but the instructor this month, they rotate every month, is a little bit of a yogi-douchebag) I purchase yes the overpriced 20 sesh package hoping that through this I can channel a little of that Lulu Lemon girl that I know is just hiding deep inside me waiting to surface - and hotmessmoment: they have free oranges...mmmm. The first class back at Aha actually doesn't actually go so well for me. Friday night with Sherman the African American Body Building Yogi God. Sherman you don't have me fooled, those pecks are not from Yoga. Turns out Sherman, who had rave reviews on well ahasf.com (hmmm rethink the incestuous review...) is actually a sadistic yogi who I suspect instructed yoga in the military or even more likely the marines. The warm up was hot and messy but I kept it together, this was under the assumption, as Sherman assured us that this was the hardest part. Throughout the 90 minutes Sherman put his hands all over my convulsing about to pass out body to correct me on my posture probably because as a hot mess I don't exaclty bend like Lulu Lemon the yoga superstar upfront; in my defense, were we really made to bend that direction anyway? Come on Sherman couldn't you have looked the other way and let me think I knew my yoga?
45 minutes through the practice, hot, sweaty and I had already put my headband back in 3 times I realized this wasn't going to get better. 50 minutes through the practice I take a child pose. 60 minutes in I decide to half ass the next 30 or I may vomit on cute boy up front - Hot Mess sidenote: he can do that posture with on one arm with body and legs suspended in the air...mmmmm-.
65 minutes in and still on the standing postures I decide to take another child's pose which turns into me on my knees waiting out the latest punishment Sherman has thought up. Sherman catches wind of my plan - to quit - and comes over to make sure all is ok; Hot Mess Moment: "yeah my doctor says I shouldn't do this one on my bad knee..." Not good enough for Sergent Sherman he gives me a similar posture anyway.
And then the abs, um f'ing never ended. The last thing I remember before I passed out is Sherman saying "and twist and twist." - actually I'm not that messy I didn't pass out - Anyway Sherman doesn't like me and I don't like him. Sorry Sergent Sherman I won't be making it to your bootcamp again anytime soon.
PS He played R&B the entire 90.
Aha yoga I'll see you tomorrow.
Aaaah Naw yoga don't count on it.
