Twisted Foul-Mouthed Humor Ahead.
Backstory: At our Yoga studio they offered a 30 day Yoga challenge for $90. That equates to 3 bucks a class if you do all 30. So fucking show-off Rick (referred to as Fuck Head (FH) for this post) has to sign up for it. I didn't because I will leave towards the end of week 3 for NC to do a Half Marathon. Now, here's the story of two fags at Yoga. (This ain't the Brady Bunch!)
So Friday nights are the problematic night. Unless we make the 4:30 class (Iyengar or some stupid shit name like that), we have to take the Level 2-3. (Read boot camp!) So last week, FH gets a pass to get outta work early and we do Iyengar. The Queen teaching that class is on a HAMSTRING mission from Satan. (Truthfully, it did help with my 13.5 miles last week, but that's not nearly as funny.) So Queeny weighs about 81 starving pounds and his little legs can either go up his ass or nose. You choose. But at the end of the afternoon session, we (FH and I) were able to breeze through it.
Flash forward to this week. Neither FH nor I could sneak outta work early today so it was boot camp HELL tonight. My balls are still sweating 2 hours after class. So we start off with breathing. Easy right. Then we get into heavy breathing. This ain't sex bitches! Then we (ok I) get into hassling for breath and then begging God to let me see the light at the end of the fucking tunnel. It WAS an oncoming train! Oh shit. While some cute men, and chicks I don't care about, showed me things I'd only had wet dreams about, I was trying to see through my drenched once-illustrious locks. All those hair products simply wasted today. Who the fuck knew that eyelids sweat? And toe nails, too?
So there we were trying to do the Dolphin Pose (I prefer chicken salad), the soldier (which FH says is the Hero Pose) and the Warrior Pose, I am beginning to wonder about the sanity of idiots who do this shit. And there are also poses for restoration. The fucking Down Dog. Right?? My dog doesn't like to get down. Disco is dead. So when I'm in the Down Dog, my fat-assed belly hangs down on my lungs and I can't breath. How fucking restorative can it be if you can't breath? And the Child's Pose. It's not a Child's Pose, it's the fucking Fetal Position. I think my mother could feel MY inner child tonight. And lastly, during the Happy Baby position, I think I soiled my diaper.
So when it was all said and done, and I looked like a fucking train wreck that had been left out in the rain, and I couldn't flirt with the hunk next to FH, I went to Starbucks and got an Iced Tea and came home.
And once I get a shower and sleep (provided I can crawl to either one of those), I will probably be ready to do it all again tomorrow. I loved every minute of it!!! Yoga fucking rocks. And so does Fuck Head for introducing me to it!