Sweatin' to the yogies.

Hi guys!  I have been trying to spice up my life lately by shaking up my routine.  Not just with fitness and eats (although I do love me some spice), but with life, LIFE!  Let's use spice again and mention that adage regarding variety.  I've been into that, but also into trying things that scare me.  And so, heart palpitations bangin' out of control, I grabbed my mat and took a rainy stroll to Brookline for my very first hot yoga session.

Beginner (understatement of the millenium) that I am, I opted for an "All Levels" class at Baptiste Power Yoga Institute.  It's actually a pretty good deal, as far as yoga classes in Boston go: if it's your first visit to the studio, you pay $15 for the class and then get to come back for as many sessions as you want for the rest of the week!  Given that I paid $15 a hit at Blissful Monkey in JP, I was very excited.  Angela, however, was not as impressed when I relayed the deal: "‎$15/class? that's like two chicken sandwiches at Real Deal".  How unfortunately true.  Paul Castellano sub, I weep for you.

Did I mention that the instructor's name was Rhea?  Yes, just like me!  Spelled and pronounced the same.  I approached her after class and asked if her parents were crazy Greek descendants of goat herders and chicken slayers/bellydancing hippies, too.  They weren't.

Ok, my problem with yoga is... I find it kinda boring.  15 minutes into the class, I get really bored.  And antsy. Someone recommended power yoga at this particular studio because it is very flowy and fast-paced.  Boy, were they right.  After a few "warm up" poses in the 90 DEGREE ROOM, I was huffing and puffing my little heart out.  I didn't feel too bad, though, as some full-grown men had assumed child's pose on their mats for the duration of the class.  How is it that those lithe, dancer-types are able to pretzel their way through such a tropically temperate class, while the strong gym boys were begging for mercy!?  My dad's theory is that the lightest people have to do the least work manipulating their bodies.  My sense?  It's the Lululemon gear.  They are the chosen ones.  AnybitterinmyTJMaxxworkoutrags, I also have a beef with the pretense I've found in some yoga studios.  Which is probably just my insecurity over my wounded-looking Downward Dog.  Baptiste, with its Vita Coco-stocked coolers and river stones in the bathroom sink, was on the accessible side of snobbish.  Plus, the energy was great in the class: I loved that everyone clapped at the end.  The joy!

For $15/week of classes and a beautiful burn in my muscles today, I can deal with the floating BU girls and their Smartwaters. 

Yes, I'm giving yoga a chance.  And you can too!  Real Simple, patron saint of Type A twenty-somethings, tipped me off to National Yoga Month.  When you go to NYM's website, you can print a coupon for a whole week of free yoga at a local studio!  I've already nabbed mine, so if you're in the Boston area, get yours and we can curse out them lithe dancer-types from the back of the classroom!  As long as you're alright with being seen in public with Sweaty Rhea, that is (spoiler alert: looks like I've been standing in front of the business end of a common garden hose).

Question of the Day: Is yoga a part of your life?  I've always felt left out, as though I'm the only one in the world who doesn't "get" yoga, but Mr. Waffles' mama confessed that it's not her favorite, either.  I'm really trying to give it a try with an open mind because I need to work more on stretching.  Oh, and staying sane.  Kisses!