True Enough For You

Check your thighs in the mirror, ma. I'm done.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Time, Love and Tenderness

Sometimes my ambition breeds trouble. Ok, let me take a step back. I wouldn’t exactly classify my following through on my desire to take yoga classes again "ambition" in the truest sense of the word. However, getting off my couch after the workday is done, sadly, makes me feel like a go-getter. Even if it is just to learn poses, stretches and breathing techniques to put myself at Zen’s truest ease. Or something. Anyway, since I am bad at reading directions and class descriptions, I showed up for a yoga class last night that was much different than the one I took with the porn star instructor on Sunday (see supra). I was a comedic mess, laughing out loud at times at how preposterous I must have looked to the rest of the students.

The schedule said that this class was being taught by Lindsey, so perhaps closed-mindedly I was waiting for another pert little porn star girl to wiggle into the room a little late and breathily apologize for her tardiness, the cutest tardiness ever. Lindsey (like the Buckingham of Fleetwood Mac variety) was a man with the fittest body I have ever seen and tattoos on both arms (roses on one side, Chinese characters on the other, natch). Built like a brick shithouse, he was no nonsense. Deisel. Tank top and short shorts. He dimmed the lights and began. This yoga was Out. Of. Control. He was bending in ways I have never seen a man bend before (mind out of the gutter, thanks). I was keeping up until we got to the part where he wanted us to get into Crow position. Basically, Crow position is squatting with your palms on the ground and then balancing both your legs on your arms. From crow, he instructed us to get into handstands. In my defense, I do quite well in other yoga classes, and not everyone in the class could complete the handstand. But come on! Full out, motherfucking handstands! Clearly, I was out of my element. It was more like an Olympic exhibition. And believe me when I say, I am no Paul Hamm. My voice is deeper.

The class continued to do things that I thought only that Indian guy who fits in the water cooler on the 80s show “That’s Incredible” could do. He gave us partners to do partner poses. Sadly for Meredith with the pretty eyes, I, along with my ineptitude, was assigned to her. I think she hated me. One great part about yoga classes usually is the instructor will come around and give you “hands on” instructions. This class was no different. I wasn’t complaining, since Lindsey was as handsome as he was sculpted. He was treating me like you would treat a foreign exchange student in high school, speaking slowly and deliberately, not wanting to upset the strange newcomer. He was amazingly patient. Perfect and annoying. After class, I went up to him to thank him for his otherworldly good nature for the jerk who wasn’t bendy enough. Now wearing wire-framed rimmed glasses, he put his hands on my shoulders, embraced me and said he loved my spirit. He claimed, "Patience needs no thank you's." Clearly channelling Oprah, he said it’s all about following through, getting better and feeling the spirit. He added that he would be sad if I gave up and didn’t come back and that he would offer my help before and after class. I was fully swooning over the yogi as I just nodded my head yes, knowing what he said was spiritual claptrap, but not caring. And so, go back I will.

Yesterday at work I had to move a rug into the new City Commissioner’s office. It turns out my judge has a “flair for design” and loves to design others’ offices. However, she doesn’t like moving things. You can see where I come into play.

In other news, my friend Michael Bolton is blogging. Check him out. He wants to be your soul provider.


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