10 May 2011

Namaste, bitches!

Ok, so it's been forever since I've blogged. Luckily for you, brevity is the soul of wit (anyone find it ironic that Shakespeare wrote a lot?) and so I can sum up what I've been doing in one short sentence.

Got shaken, cried, went to Auckland, met boy, almost ate a snail, was airbrushed in glossy mag, came back to Crushedchurch, felt sad, now better.

Far more interesting than any of that is that yesterday I did yoga. 

A couple of weeks BQ, I signed up for 'Challenge Me' - a wellness initiative through work. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was seduced by a cute alcoholic team name. Of course then all the excitement happened and I completely forgot about that moment of foolishness. And late last week my challenge cards arrived. Turns out I pledged to eat breakfast, prioritise a big work task, go to bed early... and do yoga. Every day.

Yoga for Dummies seemed about my level. It stars a pretty, serene, smiley weirdo named Sarah who has nice hair, says 'foe-wid' instead of forward and looks positively orgasmic about breathing noisily through her nose. She keeps telling me not to worry if I can't sit on the floor or bend over. I wonder if I'm really her target audience. 

The media has led me to believe yoga must be done on a pretty beach or at least an expansive lawn. I looked out the window at the freezing, narrow, broken concrete path with the rubbish bins on it and decided to use my lounge instead. 

So I dragged out the Pilates mat that was hiding under my couch, ripped the plastic off it (don't ask... bad experience with late-night infomercials), squahed the spiders that were living in the middle of the roll, and stripped down to my tights. 

I don't think those serene, balanced chicks in the swirly pants on the beach at sunrise were ever photographed in winter. 

With heatpump firmly set to maximum, I obediently stood in the centre of the room and copied Foe-wid's motions.

Well. Those serene, balanced goddesses on crimson-hued beaches made it look rather easy. After all, all you have to do is make yourself look bendy and hot, right? How could that be difficult?

As Foe-wid instructs me to keep a soft jaw as I reach through my fingers (!?!) and pull my nose into my tummy (!!!), I wonder if a red-faced grimace and burning wrists are supposed to be the outward expressions of serenity and balance. It also occurs to me that my lounge has two walls that are basically just windows and the boots of the workmen building my laundry keep pausing as they pass said windows. I can't look to see if they're staring - my nose is trying to pull itself into my tummy. With a soft jaw.

When we get to 'The Cobra', I can't help but think that I like the sexual position a whole lot better. 

The last pose in the 'daily dozen' suits me perfectly, however. It's called the corpse.

Sigh. And then tonight, I did it all again. I probably will again tomorrow. The militant team captain of 'Three Sauvs and a Beer' scares me.

2 comments:

  1. Hmm The Cobra......

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  2. Pro tip: don't practice yoga after actually having three sauvs. Which I did. Seriously, don't.

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