I'm not going to need to lift my arms, like, ever again, right?
Our tale of woe begins in mid-October, when Amazon e-mailed me one of those local deals for a yoga studio near my house. Now, I really like the studio I've been going to, but this promised five regular yoga lessons plus one of aerial yoga for the low, low price of $30! How do I turn down aerial yoga and not just because it might be research for a Pinto PWP? There are hammocks! So I bought the stupid thing, not knowing at the time that:
a) The studio was not set to even begin offering yoga classes until December, because;
b) The studio primarily teaches pole dancing.
Well, since I couldn't use the coupon until some time in December, I promptly forgot about it until last week, when Amazon reminded me I had only until mid-February to use it. So after a week of not being able to sign up for anything (the website isn't working; the website won't accept my coupon; I call and the computer system is down; I call and no one answers), I finally signed up for aerial yoga tonight. At 7, said the website. I show up there only to find out that, no, aerial yoga was at 6, but they do have a class at 7!
Power yoga.
I figure, what the hell, I've been doing yoga pretty regularly for five or so months now, no big deal. But I've been doing ashtanga yoga, which always does a set series of poses in a set order and is focused on meditation and movement. The delightfully hippie teacher is always reminding us to breathe and modify the poses if we need to and rest as often as necessary.
Ha ha, none of that pansy crap in power yoga. I was doing positions I'd never even seen before, and believe me, none of them were in the least bit sexy. (Actually, doing yoga has significantly decreased my willingness to sexualize it in fic, because after about three sun salutations there is nothing even remotely hot about downward-facing dog. But I digress.) Toward the end, I was in some sort of inverted one-handed downward-facing dog, except facing upward with one leg in the air, when my right arm decided it had had just about enough of this bullshit and went on strike. We fought for a few seconds, but after a few spastic wobbles, it became clear that I was on the losing side and I immediately assumed the "collapsed in a sweaty heap" position.
I might as well mention that all this time, the pole-dancing class was going on right next door, and the UNCE UNCE UNCE stripper music beat was completely drowning out whatever calming music was playing in the yoga room. I also found it hilarious that in the little shop that all yoga studios must have that sells overpriced mats and overpriced towels to go on top of the overpriced mats, right next to the work-out gear were dozens upon dozens of pairs of rhinestone-studded platform spike heels. Because there, that IS the workout gear. Really, I wish I'd taken a picture.
So I scheduled myself for aerial yoga next week at six o'clock, and I don't think I'm going to go back after that. Unless I decide to take up pole-dancing.
a) The studio was not set to even begin offering yoga classes until December, because;
b) The studio primarily teaches pole dancing.
Well, since I couldn't use the coupon until some time in December, I promptly forgot about it until last week, when Amazon reminded me I had only until mid-February to use it. So after a week of not being able to sign up for anything (the website isn't working; the website won't accept my coupon; I call and the computer system is down; I call and no one answers), I finally signed up for aerial yoga tonight. At 7, said the website. I show up there only to find out that, no, aerial yoga was at 6, but they do have a class at 7!
Power yoga.
I figure, what the hell, I've been doing yoga pretty regularly for five or so months now, no big deal. But I've been doing ashtanga yoga, which always does a set series of poses in a set order and is focused on meditation and movement. The delightfully hippie teacher is always reminding us to breathe and modify the poses if we need to and rest as often as necessary.
Ha ha, none of that pansy crap in power yoga. I was doing positions I'd never even seen before, and believe me, none of them were in the least bit sexy. (Actually, doing yoga has significantly decreased my willingness to sexualize it in fic, because after about three sun salutations there is nothing even remotely hot about downward-facing dog. But I digress.) Toward the end, I was in some sort of inverted one-handed downward-facing dog, except facing upward with one leg in the air, when my right arm decided it had had just about enough of this bullshit and went on strike. We fought for a few seconds, but after a few spastic wobbles, it became clear that I was on the losing side and I immediately assumed the "collapsed in a sweaty heap" position.
I might as well mention that all this time, the pole-dancing class was going on right next door, and the UNCE UNCE UNCE stripper music beat was completely drowning out whatever calming music was playing in the yoga room. I also found it hilarious that in the little shop that all yoga studios must have that sells overpriced mats and overpriced towels to go on top of the overpriced mats, right next to the work-out gear were dozens upon dozens of pairs of rhinestone-studded platform spike heels. Because there, that IS the workout gear. Really, I wish I'd taken a picture.
So I scheduled myself for aerial yoga next week at six o'clock, and I don't think I'm going to go back after that. Unless I decide to take up pole-dancing.