Hot Yoga Virgin

Until last night at 8:15 pm CST, I was a hot yoga virgin.  And while I didn’t have the same remorse I did after my first sexual experience, it was every bit as awkward.

In my defense, there is nothing quite as twisted as a yoga instructor starting class by spearing your left ankle with a two minute tree pose.  I was a aging oak in the middle of a tornado.  Bending sideways and tripping over its own roots.

I am trying to let go of judging yoga teachers, but I’ve had a hard time ever since my last instructor thought he would shit-can the ocean soundtrack for his falsetto.  We’re literally in proud warrior and he is belting out Sinatra.  A little Madonna with your sun salutation?  And for an encore, let me present Kenny Chesney as you slither into child’s pose.

I was a mess and walked away from the quest for a quiet mind and peaceful heart.  Until last night.

I survived the premature tree pose and (considering I am a tight-assed-hamstring kinda guy) settled into a decent groove.  The mirror reflected my weakness as I spied the room full of women owning their poses.  I shrugged off vertigo and fought through half moon.  Sweat blurred my vision and the heat vent dried tears before they moistened my cheeks.  But, like they tell you, I stayed with the pose.

I imagined relaxing as I pierced the rough waves off the beach at Kona.  The sun shined as I soaked in the scenic 112 miles of rolling hills in Lake Placid.  And I hummed along in meditation for a 26.2 mile run through the University of Wisconsin campus.  I am, after all, an Ironman virgin as well.

2 thoughts on “Hot Yoga Virgin

    1. crushingiron Post author

      Hey Kristen. I will probably do regular yoga for a while to get back in the groove. I can see how the heat factor might be a a good challenge, like training in the summer, but I need a little more base.


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