As I sit here at the keyboard with sore shoulders, achy hamstrings, a crick in my neck, and tight as a rubber band that's been left in a middle school locker over the winter holiday, I wonder again when I will begin feeling all the wondrous, youth enhancing benefits of the yoga I've been practicing for about 2 years now. Then again, maybe if I hadn't been doing yoga all this time, I'd be feeling even worse than I do now! Can't prove the negative, right? Let's go with that.
I have a great yoga teacher. She's not one of those "access your third eye" types who reeks of patchouli and looks like she hasn't seen the inside of a shower stall in 6 weeks. She's actually quite a normal person, aside from being over 40 having stolen the body of a svelte 20 year-old and grafted it onto her head. Her ass won't quit, and I say that in a totally non-lesbianish but very envious sort of way. I could do lunges from now until 2012 and I'd NEVER achieve the awesomeness of her ass. But I digress.
Since you can't all come to Southern MD (and if you could, I know you'd be off like a herd of stampeding turtles!) and take a class with my yoga teacher, I thought I'd give you the next best thing. Then I realized that I can't friggin' do that either, so I thought I'd draw you some lame ass pictures of what I look like during my yoga class so you can mentally transport yourself and snicker behind my back from wherever you happen to be.
Just as I'm about to get lured into a false sense of serenity, my yoga teacher starts pulling asanas out of her ass and doesn't stop for the rest of the hour! Here is but a small sampling of some of the pretzelifications I am humiliatingly contorted into each week: