Wednesday, March 18, 2009

yoga addict

I think I may be addicted to yoga. My yoga teacher is out of town for three weeks (how dare she!) and sometimes my body actually aches to do a sun salutation. Lest you think, however, that I'm one of those yoga people -- the kind of yoga person who refers to herself as a "yogini" (gross) and has a slim but toned, flexible body as a result of her "practice" (I wish) -- know this: Yoga is making me fat. Actually, technically it is probably the chocolate I eat throughout the day that is making me fat, but I'm pretty sure it is the yoga that is giving me massive thighs. It's not a metaphor when I say I'm busting out of my pants. I have literally busted out of literal pants (once while I was shopping at Home Goods, where I will never show my face again, now that I have shown my butt).

And not only is it making me fat, I'm terrible at yoga. After nine months of going to between one and four classes a week, I can just barely touch my toes (although when I started, I could just barely touch my knees, so this is an improvement). The pose I'm best at is savasana, also known as "corpse pose" (Chris is under the impression that I get lots of exercise because I go to yoga so much, in spite of the fact that I've explained to him that it's more like preschool than aerobics: we lie down on our mats and take a nap at the end).

And though I know that as a yogini (as if) I should be tolerant of or at peace with or at least not completely judgmental of the people around me, I have an arch nemesis at yoga. Farting Man usually comes late to class, he inevitably plops his mat right in front of mine, and then he proceeds to fart his way through yoga while I fume and curse him in my head and wish ill upon him, which I'm sure the Dalai Lama would do, too, if he were stuck behind Farting Man for an hour and a half in a hot room.

But at this point I'm so desperate for yoga class, I wouldn't even mind if Farting Man tooted in my face while I was struggling to touch my toes. Well, I would mind, but I would summon the yogini within, stretch my massive thighs, and try not to let the toxic stench disrupt my deep yogic breaths.


  1. Once, one of my mother's fifteen-year-old sandals started crumbling off her foot whilst we shopped in Wal-Mart. She left pieces of her sole all through the store as she escaped, in shame, and by the time we made it to the car she only had a strap left around her ankle.

  2. I think every yoga class I have ever been in has had a farter, what is up with that? I farted in yoga once and was so mortified I have never been back to Yoga Vermont since.

  3. Mojie, of course every yoga class has a farter. Yoga relaxes the anus. That's a known fact.

  4. 1. J Quizzle, I love your mother's sandals story.

    2. While it is true that every yoga class has a farter (hello, wind-relieving pose), Farting Man is in a league of his own. To understand you must come with me to yoga. And what better excuse, really, for a trip to Vermont?

  5. J Quizz - WHy must you say anus on a food blog? Why?
    Come to Vermont and you can say anus as much as you want!

  6. i love the disappearing sandle story too. farting man is bad, but snoring man is worse. he interrupts my savasana every time and i can't relax dammitt!