My best friend and I are on a kind of never ending quest to be gloriously fit. We haven't "let ourselves go," as it were, but we both remember skinnier days where we were at the height of our soccer playing and track running years, and we really really want to get back to that level - except that we've agreed that its really flippin' hard when there's nobody around to yell at you to keep going.
For as long as I've been fit, it was because of the sports I played and the teams I was a part of. There was no option to stop running - you veer off to the side, hurl, and catch your ass back up with the team ASAP so you don't end up making everybody go again. Sure, I could train on my own back then, but it was a lot easier to push myself into running a few more sprints when I knew I'd be manned up with fucking Flo-Jo reincarnated as a soccer player who happens to be the other team's wing midfielder in my game this weekend. Now though? I'm 20-something, just worked a long day, and am perfectly fine ellipsing away on level 4 while catching up on the news with my trusty The Week magazine. The only problem is that at that pace it would take 5 hours a day on that machine to get the chiseled, bounce-a-quarter-off-my-ass body I'm going for. Sure, my friend and I could motivate each other, except we’re too good of friends for that. Meaning, in the 45th minute on that machine, no matter how encouraging or motivational she sounds when she tells me, you’re almost done! Why don’t you knock it up a few levels and really finish strong?! I have no problem giving her a "go to hell" look and telling her to bite me.
It is with this realization that we decided we needed an intervention, and as we’re not fit enough to join a sports team just yet, we thought that this Power Yoga class at our gym would be perfect. I mean its yoga for pete’s sake – a little stretching and some core strength? Yes, please! Umm, apparently we were wrong. All you birkenstocked, Prana-wearing, modern-day hippies do not be fooled. "Power" Yoga is NOT just the peaceful stretching to the sound of waterfalls that you're used to. Power Yoga, as it turns out, is exactly what I should have expected from the title - and now I can't feel my shoulders.
The only sense in which power yoga is a path to connect with your inner being is that you are going to become acutely aware of every tiny, individual muscle in between each of your ribs that you never knew existed but which are now causing you searing pain with every stretch of your lungs as you breathe in and out. I have an entirely new level of respect for yogis. I mean the human pretzel thing always looked ridiculously hard, but I would just marvel knowing that I’d never try that shit. What is astounding about practicing this art is that all the stuff that looks easy takes an unbelievable amount of strength to execute. Maybe that’s the key – once I get gloriously fit and my body can handle these poses yoga will open my mind up to the harmony and serenity people always rave about. And hell, if nothing else at least the quarters will by flying!
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