Yoga. It's all about position.

I hate Sundays.
I guess I should re-phrase that.
I hate myself on Sundays.
I always eat like crap, and then I take a marathon Sunday afternoon nap.
That results in me not being tired again until 3 a.m., which leaves me super cranky on Monday mornings.
And bloated.
I really, really hate myself on Mondays.
I need to figure out a better routine, but Internets, I am just so weak.
I really like eating junk.
And I love my nap.
So, on Monday, I feel obligated out of guilt, and my flabby food baby to make the trek to the gym.
Monday is Yoga, and then Spin.
Yoga on Monday is a horrible idea.
There is no zen for me.

When I go to the gym, I prefer a certain spot in the room.
It is next to a pole, where I can dump my gym bag and jacket.
It is also not directly underneath a fan.
I get too cold.
So on Mondays, I get there early to set up in my place.
Some Mondays, after I set up, people set up next to me that I don't like.
The worst is when Mouth Breather sets up next to me.
I know that there is a special way to breathe in Yoga.
They call it something.
I just don't like it.
I don't want to hear people breathe.
This lady is queen of loud breathing.
She sounds like she is having an asthma attack.
I hate her.
I can't even think when I hear her sucking wind in and out.
And when she rattles the air in and out, she also somehow hums.
It sounds like she is mumbling something.
And since I am already well on the path of hating her, everything else about her bugs me.
You know how that happens, right?
She could be a perfectly nice person, and she probably is, but I already have my opinion.
Because of her stupid breathing.
Once she set up in front of me, and I had to stare at her butt the whole class.
She is built exactly like a frog.
A frog in spandex.
She is linebacker-large up top, and then tapers down into these teeny legs, and her butt is long and pointed.
I am not kidding.
Like a frog.
I tried to google you an image, but that didn't work out so well.
You will just have to use your imagination.
Sometimes the Yoga teacher tells us to "Tweeze your buttocks together, to protect your lower back."
Some people shouldn't tweeze their buttocks together. Ever.
"Tweeze" is code for "make your butt look hideous."
So this morning, I am all set up, and she plops herself down right next to me.
Not today.
I couldn't take it today.
So I got all my stuff and moved.
Then she was all weirded out, and asked me why I moved.

Here was my moral dilemma.

I have made a goal this year to be 100% honest.
So I should have said to her "It just really bugs me when you breathe."
But somehow, that sounded really petty and Kindergarten-y in my head.
So instead, I made up a LIE, and told her that a friend was meeting me, and I needed to save her a spot.
So much for my honesty goal.

I have bigger fish to fry, because now I am behind "armpits."
There is another lady that comes to Yoga, and sets herself up with two mats, that cross.
She is in the middle of a big "X."
She said it is because she doesn't like to touch the floor with her bare feet, so she spreads out two mats, in case we do moves where you have to straddle the mat.
(Yoga brings out the weirdies, I have decided.)
Sometimes class is super full, and people are pressed up against each other, but there is mat hog, all spread out in her 6x6' zen zone.
I hate her too.
Mostly I hate her because she stinks.
She always has pit smell.
Not the clean sweat/chicken soup pit smell.
The stale, rank kind that makes your eyes water.
Once I overheard her tell someone that "you should never wear deodorant to the gym, because your pores need an opportunity to flush toxins out."
Mystery solved.
And also.....ewwwww.
I had my choice this morning between "pits" or "mouth -breathing frog butt."

I chose door number three.

The 90 year old lady in the back.
There is a fine line between being inspired by the fact that this lady, who is about ready to crack in half, still hauls herself to the gym to work out--and the fact that one day, I hope my guilt runs out, and I am just content to be fat.
I don't want to be coming to the gym when I am 90.
I really don't.
I want to eventually earn the right to not exercise, watch Golden Girls re-runs, and have society accept that.

So I set up, and in the door breezes Mulan.
Every Yoga class has a Mulan.
A beautiful oriental lady with flowing jet black locks, and a perfect, petite body.
A body the size of a 12 year old.
I hate her too.
Mostly because she can fold herself into a knot.
She does crap the teacher can only talk about.
"Class, if you are really advanced, you can try the "Hawk!" I have only seen it performed once! Float your whole pretzeled body above the mat, using only your hair for stability....like Mulan! Oh my goodness, MULAN! Advanced people, just follow Mulan."
And Mulan never sweats.
I know I am stereo-typing here, but it is true.
Oriental people can Yoga the hell out of us white folks.
We can pretend it's not true, but it is.
I am not even sure if Mulan has actual bones in her body, or if it is all just cartilage like the healthy fresh fish she probably eats.
Mulan set up next to me.
I immediately surrendered into Child's Pose.

It was a good thing I had spin class right after Yoga, cause I kinda had a lot of aggression to burn off.