Icky gray

 

The marine layer lumbers over Santa Ana this morning like the wayward humpbacks lost in San Francisco bay.  No matter where one looks, washed out memories of springtime colors wither and fade over the bleak landscape.  Needless to say, I am not particularly fond of this time of year.  The cool temperatures I can embrace.  But the gloom in the air simply is not pleasant. 

 

Returning to regular life after a vacation doth suck!  Oh well, at least I have yoga tonight – that should be nice.  Rough, but nice.

 

Oh, on a completely different topic, I have a medication update.  The good news – my meds have helped to level my frenzied personality – YEAH!  The bad news – I have gained about fifteen pounds because of them.  MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR BOO!

 

Let’s see… sane and fat vs. insane and thinner.  I’m a vain gay man – so I’m leaning towards the latter.  After a chat with my doctor yesterday, we decided to switch meds.  So… the roller-coaster will begin anew this afternoon.  

 

Wish me luck gang.

Yoga gone horribly wrong

For some cosmic reason, yoga classes have been very hit or miss lately.  Since my gym is remodeling (or remuddling), lots of classes have been rescheduled, teachers switched around, etc.  The other week, for instance, I found myself in a class with an instructor that I had never had before.  While she did seem to know what she was doing, I think she must have been most recently involved in step aerobics.  Why?  Because our yoga poses - normally following a flow and grace of rhythmic movement akin to water trickling over a smooth stone, turned instead into some sort of race for enlightenment more in kind with kayaking.  In terms of successful exercise, it was sort of like taking a 33 and putting it on 78 speed.  (For those of you who have no idea what that means, grab an encyclopedia, look up "Vinyl album" and then go and watch Japaname' until dinner time).

This evening, I went in to my usual Wednesday night class expecting to see my regular instructor - Lana.  Instead, a little Asian woman walked into the room after dimming the lights to get us in the mood.  "Hmmmm..." I thought to myself.  "An Asian woman should be interesting.  Perhaps she'll throw a true Eastern spin on our class."  Not so much.  Donning a very loud headset, she unintentionally shouted in a very strong accent, "HOWR IS EVEEONE FEE'ING TONIGHT????!!!!!!... NIGHT...night... night... ight..."  

UGH!  This is yoga - not a rock concert.

"Um... fine," I said, after uncovering my ears.  Why she felt the need to wear a headset with the five of us that were there mystified me.  Then, I figured out why.  As she turned the music on, the very loud rhythmic drumming of African congas filled the room.  Ready to duck and cover for fear of poisoned darts in a Busch Gardens amusement ride, I said to myself, "Ya gotta be kidding me.  This is supposed to be relaxing?"  

Congas?!  What the fruit?

The instructor began the class in fairly typical fashion by leading us through a Sun Salutation.  For those of you unfamiliar, a Sun Salutation is a series of moves designed to heat and prep the body for the work to come.  Often combining standing moves, bending moves, and floor moves, a Sun Salutation can take several forms, designed to the will of the participant.  In a class setting, the instructor typically develops a routine and leads the class through it.  That is what this instructor did... sorta.

After introducing us to one "interesting" combination of moves for our Sun Salutation, the instructor abandoned us utterly, inviting us to go about the salutation at our own flow.  "Um...." I thought to myself.  "That would be fine... if we had actually memorized it."  Most often, the instructor still guides the class through the steps.  Not this time.  Each student went about the routine... kinda... at our own pace... or memory... or... solo effort.  Now, in an ideal perfect world where we all could block out distraction, this would not be an issue.  But when everyone in the room was clearly executing something entirely different, our "relaxing" class had about as much tranquili success as Linsay Lohan's rehab therapist.

Throughout the course of the class, I kept contorting my head to see what my instructor was doing.  Despite her using a headset (SET!  Set!  set...set....et), her accent was so strong that I could not figure out what in the world she wanted us to do.  Imagine, if you will, Margaret Cho's mother teaching yoga.  NOT a pretty picture.  Finally, we neared the end.  (Thank the gods!)  As a finishing pose, we sat holding our outstretched splayed legs in the air.  After listening to some short discussion where the only thing I could make out was "shockwa", she directed us to draw in and hold our first chakra.  "Wadies," she said.  "Dat be yo pee-muscle."  

"PEE MUSCLE?"  I thought to myself.  "She did NOT just say 'pee muscle'"

"And guys," she said.  "Da same tang fo ur".

As we sat on our rumps, holding our toes with our legs splayed out in the air, balancing, I began to giggle.  She was having us kegel!  In the back of my mind, all I could think was, "And CLENCH!  And HOLD!  And Release!"  Trying to do that while suppressing a giggle hurts - (Although makes the exercise MUCH more intense).

"Now tin of sometin red," she said.  "Verrrry verrrrry stronguh red.  And puw in da pee muscle."

This was just wrong.  Wrong, wrong, wrong.