In the hopes of decreasing my bodily softiness that has come with turning 30 every year for the last 3 years I signed up with a trainer. I know this wasn’t part of my lay off recession spending plan but because I can go during lunch and pay cash I got a really good deal on 6 sessions to jump start myself. Plus I have been so miserly all year that I felt it was time to reward myself. I went to my first session with the trainer and deduced he was trained by the Gulag Academy for Personal Trainers located in Uzbekistan.
The trainer put me on a machine that was basically a mechanical ladder (no, not the mechanical stepper - it's actually a 7 foot tall, 45 degree angle mechanized ladder). Yes, I am paying someone by the hour to watch me climb a ladder - I used to get paid $7 an hour to climb a ladder to paint houses after I got back from walking to school uphill in a blizzard both ways.
Anyway, I also went to my second Yoga class ever. The last one being when I was still in my springier 20s.
Yoga should stand for:
Yea that hurts
…which were most of the sounds coming out of my mouth during the 60 minute session.
Luckily there isn’t an “F” in the word Yoga.
I tried valiantly to go from down dog, to cow, cobra, crane and the rest of the zoological poses while trying to breath at the right times (or pant). Then finally to my favorite pose - the corpse pose - where you lie on your back and rest. I didn't quite get to the relaxing, spiritual part of Yoga as it was hard to let my mind go when I could hear my joints popping and ligaments snapping.
It hurts to sneeze.