I rather rudely plagiarized this blog title from a T-shirt I saw advertised recently. I am not the sort of person who wears a T-shirt with a funny saying across the chest. I am the sort of person who enjoys an outlet for yammering on a bit, though, and so here we are. With thanks and apologies to the clever person whose joke I am so ungracefully pilfering:
“I do yoga to relax.
I drink wine in yoga pants.”
I actually do practice yoga, with a frequency somewhere in between flossing and dusting the television. Which is to say, vacillating between ‘frenzied obsession’ and ‘utter lack of concern for the days and weeks zooming by.’ The drinking of wine in the yoga pants is an equally reliable, and much more frequently employed, method of relaxation.
Fashion digression: Never having shopped at Lululemon, I can’t say whether spending $120 to have your rear end cupped in high-end, magically-engineered Lycra is worthwhile. I can tell you that on one occasion I tried on no fewer than fifteen pairs of black yoga pants in Marshalls, and every one of them was see-through in the arse parts. Once, my brother was absolutely mortified when his young daughter was on stage and another parent locked eyes with him and mouthed “oops!”: You could see through her leggings completely. Beware the frumious sheerness, ladies and parents of girls! (Also, in a related discussion, tightsarenotpants.)
For fifteen years I’ve contorted my (actually-relatively-flexible-but-not-fit) body through yoga classes. Hatha yoga, yin yoga, power yoga, vinyasa flow, and the highly masochistic hot “bro-ga” as I call it (think military-style with man-meat grunting and sweating profusely in a room blowing such hot air you are convinced you’ll have a heart attack or die of heatstroke or both).
. . . And I still practice the same way after all of those years. I still can’t do an arm balance. I still can’t get my hip to open up on the one side for a decent pigeon. I still can’t even get my foot in tree any higher than my other calf. I did get my plow toes-to-the-floor thanks to amazing Dharma yoga instructor Larisa Forman. So. . . I have improved, but I doubt I’ll ever practice with the regularity (or cross-train with the intensity) I’d need to become a master. And that’s OK.
I can always drink wine in my yoga pants instead. . .
A nice Oregon Pinot Noir from the Willamette Valley or a Washington State red blend from the Columbia Valley perhaps? Or an Argentinian Malbec? What is your favorite?
Welcome to the new blog. I hope you’ll get into your comfy pants, pour a glass of wine, and stay for a read.