Yo....GAH!

Why is this mime upset?
I'm gonna go with, "Because she's a mime."
But she could've also just done Bikram.

Tuesday night was yoga. The first time I was introduced to yoga was in college, but it was by a movement instructor whose first love was mime, so you can imagine it wasn't the most accurate representation of the discipline.

"And now, let's move from downward facing dog to...a dog trapped in a box! I want to hear your silent barks with my eyes!!"

What?

The second time I was introduced to yoga, it was Bikram. My friend Allison—who claims to like me but must still be harboring some animosity towards me for something—introduced me to it. When she explained that it was yoga, but in a room heated to 105 degrees with 50% humidity, I immediately agreed. Because, really, the only thing better than exercise is exercise combined with ungodly heat.

No, I didn't immediately agree. I immediately told her, in the nicest possible way that a) she should, perhaps, think about screwing off and b) she was nuts. And she was, indeed, sort of obsessed at the time. She'd just discovered it and she'd get this beatific grin on her face whenever she talked about what it had done for her body and her life.

But I knew it wouldn't do the same thing for me. I lived in Texas for two years and I got out because summers there pissed me off. I'm not walking into a yoga studio to experience Austin in August again.

But then she was so persistent that I did.

And it wasn't as hellish as I thought, but it was hellish. An hour and a half, the same moves every time. Balancing poses, lengthening poses, poses for core strength...poses that, it turns out, are actually rather pleasant when done in a room with a NORMAL FREAKIN' TEMPERATURE.

So the thing is, I actually like regular yoga. It's relaxing. It feels good for you without feeling like you're getting what you deserve for eating that last ho ho.

The only pose that makes me sad is the plow, where you lay on the floor and whip your legs over the top of your head. In this pose, I'm face-to-face with my belly. Face-to-face with the monster I've created by treating my body really poorly for the past three years. These are the moments one might regret that last bite of that thing you didn't really enjoy eating at all, but figured what the hell? I'm bored, chewing's fun, and it's not like I'm going to be face-to-face with the consequences of my actions any time soon. When are we EVER face-to-face with our bellies?

D'oh!!

Damn you, plow!! Damn. You. To. Heck.