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In an effort to be more zen about life, I decided to take a yoga class today. I had visions of being blissed out, and smugly bragging to everyone about how I now live in the moment.

Ha.

First of all, it was really freaking hard. Oh, it started off easily enough. Lots of standing up straight, breathing through the nose, and feeling your strength flowing from the core. All of which I’m pretty good at (minus the flowing core strength, which sounds like bullshit to me anyway).

Then, all of a sudden, everyone starts contorting their bodies around like a mini-army of Gumbys, or really limber porn stars, while I’m standing there trying to balance on one leg without falling over. Unsuccessfully.

A woman who is not me strikes a yoga pose that I will never, ever be able to duplicate.

The low moment came when the teacher told everyone it was time to do a split. I couldn’t do a split when I was ten, never mind being limber enough to attempt one at . . . well. Quite a bit older than ten.

And after the class, I didn’t feel at all blissed out. True, when the guy at the Chick-Fil-A parked his fucking pick-up truck behind me, so I couldn’t back out of my parking spot, I didn’t get out and shatter his headlights with a baseball bat (as he so richly deserved). But I did lay on the horn, and mutter under my breath about what an asshole he was. Fair, but, I think, probably not very zen-like.

Posted 05 July 2008 at 04:41 PM