About three or four years ago I decided to try yoga. My sister Susan gave me an instructional DVD on a style of yoga she liked and since it was the only one in the house, I decided to try it. All I needed was the rest of the yoga "stuff". So, tired of looking like a hippopotamus with nothing left to live for, I hopped in the car and drove to Wal-Mart.
Once I got to the fitness section, I began looking at all of the yoga crap. There were blocks, straps, mats, socks, gloves, headbands and on and on. I didn't know why I needed any of this, but I couldn't take the chance of not having it. If I'm going to be serious about yoga, I'm gonna need all of the serious yoga tools.
I got home, opened all the packages and laid everything out before me. I could feel my core strengthening just looking at all of this stuff. I changed into something work-outy and slipped the DVD into the machine.
Everyone on the screen was fit and toned. I should have recognized that as a red flag but I was too excited about the new physique I was on the brink of having. I saw mats, but no blocks or straps. "Whatever," I thought, "maybe they're used later in the routine."
The video was by a famous Yogi whose name I'm leaving out for obvious reasons. This fella should put a warning on the sleeve of his DVDs: "Warning! Usage of this DVD is not recommended if you have more than 2% body fat, need a regular supply of oxygen or haven't completed a durable power of attorney." The video starts out with some chit chat and tons of enthusiasm from the Stepford women lined up behind the instructor.
After our pep talk, we launch into some sort of unholy union of aerobics and yoga. No sooner do I get my fat ass into a position, Yogi What's-His-Face on the screen is three positions ahead. There is no meditation, no relaxation, no respiration. About ten minutes of that was all I could handle. I turned the DVD off, said something untoward about the Yogi's mother and ate a sandwich.
About six months later, I decided to try again. I'd spent some time online looking up different types of yoga and came across something called Yoga Nidra. The description said it was good for beginners and those looking for greater peace and relaxation. Jackpot!
I didn't need the yoga props since this one was done all on your back. Also, there was no DVD involved because I found this one on YouTube. I laid out my mat, put in some earbuds and began my session hopeful that this was the yoga for me. A man with an Irish accent began explaining what was going to happen. His voice was very relaxing and very soothing. A few minutes later, we began.
I woke up an hour and a half later. Back to the drawing board.
A few more months pass and I came across Kundalini yoga. This type of yoga is supposed to be like a therapy session. Apparently you really work though some shit while sitting in these poses and chanting. I've got a metric ton of shit to work through, I can chant as good as anyone and apparently I get to wear a cool white turban while doing Kundalini yoga, so why not?
I'll tell you why not. You sit in the prescribed poses for so long your toes will go numb and your ass will cramp. It took me ten minutes to get up off the floor. I took the turban off and had some wine.
Fast forward a few more months and the yoga bug hit me once again. This time, before I tried anything on my own, I ran into a gal who was super excited about the yoga she does. It's called Buti Yoga. Now, to hear it described, this sounds like a feminist's dream. A female empowering, body positive yoga that combines yoga poses with tribal dance. It's supposed to be raw and primal. Intrigued, I went home and cracked open YouTube.
I suppose it's easy to be comfortable enough in your skin to do what these women were doing when you look like you just left a Lululemon fashion show. Nothing on them jiggled except their perfect boobs. I tried to do what they were doing in the video and I about knocked myself out with a fat roll. That was enough for me so, not wanting to look like an epileptic Jabba the Hutt, I scratched Buti Yoga off the list.
I considered Bikram yoga for a millisecond. That's how long it took me to find out that it's practiced in a room hot enough to bake bread. Strike one is I'd have to go to a studio to do this style because my house never gets north of 64 degrees. Ever. Strike two is I could just picture myself slipping on my yoga mat and laying there in a pool of sweat surrounded by agile, trim twenty-somethings mentally using me as their motivation to keep coming to class. Bikram Yoga - hard pass.
Vinyasa Yoga was next. It actually looked like what I expected yoga to look like judging from the still pics I saw, so back to YouTube I went. I found a beginners Vinyasa video and dug my yoga shit out of the closet. I set everything up and started the video. I got about two poses in when we moved straight into the "bend over backwards and put your head in your ass" pose. "This is for beginners?!? You can't do that with bones!" I shut the video off, made myself a drink and bemoaned the limitations of my skeleton.
I've tried, but this Lewis and Clark adventure through yoga is over. I'm hanging up my mat because yoga isn't for me. I'm not made of putty and I have come to rely on a regular supply of oxygen. So, if anyone's looking for some unused yoga crap....
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