Thursday, October 28, 2010


I finally took a class with the husband of my favorite yoga teacher. He is, of course, completely ripped, incredibly flexible, and wears his hair in a topknot. Just like me! Well, the hair part anyway.

The highlight of the class was when we partnered up and took turns trying to fit our hands between our partner's low back and the floor, alternating that with karate-chopping the stomach and poking the ass. That last bit is phrased just as the instructor said it: "Poke the ass! Karate chop! Check that low back! Poke the ass again!"

You'd think I'd be all over poking a strange man's buttcheek, and I was. But, thankfully, when the roles were reversed the strange man did not poke my ass. Surprisingly, the karate chops hurt a lot. The idea is to squeeze your stomach and keep it stable even when it's vibrating. But for me the challenge was trying to breathe through the pain.

Later we put our palms flat on the floor and walked our feet up the wall while walking our hands in, until we were as vertical and close to kissing the wall as possible. On the second try, I was able to get pretty close. But the two tiny flexy bendy girls who were my spotters looked pretty freaked out. Because, let's be honest, just one of my ginormous man-legs could've squashed 'em like bugs.

Another shirtless and slightly flabby fellow inquired about my well-being as we were midway through doing exercises with our blankies-again, this is the instructor's terminology-where we'd slide them across the floor while low to the ground, or try and drag ourselves. I'm sure I looked like I was going to throw a clot but it was my arm around my stomach that worried the man. I thanked him for his concern and told him that's just how I look.


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