I like going to Baptiste power yoga in Cambridge*. I enjoy being in a fairly full class where there are people of all different skill levels but they are all deeply COMMITTED to yoga. In the beginning (and frequently the end) of class, the instructor will lead us in a round of three OMs. I love this part. Sitting in a group, letting the sound of all those voices hovering around the same tone fill my ears, drilling down my focus so that nothing else matters except that I am there to do some effing yoga: it makes me feel like I'm part of a hive.
After class last night J and I went to my place and we ate soup and grilled cheese sandwiches; we even danced around a little. I was showing her this standing split pose that I'd rocked in Monday after-work yoga and as I was doing it she said:
Why are you doing more yoga? Stop! We just did so much yoga.
I was thinking:
And then I promptly fell on my head on the kitchen floor. Luckily, it barely hurt and we were mostly laughing. But she did tell me that I should instruct the Man to wake me up every hour so that we could be sure I hadn't been concussed. It wasn't necessary; all was well. Well, except that I'm an idiot...
*I like the yoga, what I do not like is the small faction of people who make serious sex noises when they breathe. Several times during the practice, the instructor will direct us to take a giant breath out (sometimes they'll suggest you sigh) to let go of any tension and these people take the opportunity to let their inner porn star out. If you're one of these people, please stop. You're wrecking it.