Going to the gym is just an excuse to watch Friday Night Lights for me. Yes, I actually use the elliptical while I’m watching. But when I really want to exercise, I go to Yoga to the People.
There are so many good things about taking a class at Yoga to the People in Downtown Berkeley. The only bad thing I’ve experienced there was stepping in a wet spot.
There’s an adorable sadist ass man (chair pose again?) teacher with a Staten Island accent. It’s donation based so it’s affordable and I’m not the only ragamuffin in there wearing a free pitch contest t-shirt instead of the latest Lululemon. When class is over, I get to turn to one of my friends and say, “Now I know what you look like after having sex” and then we go drink wine afterwards. I’ve seen beautiful foot tattoos. I’m partial to scenes and sayings from The Little Prince. It’s so fucking challenging that I have to focus, I can’t think about work, or guys, or food, and once sweat dripped off my face and plopped onto my mat. It makes my flat ass grow a little bigger and my extra ass grow a little smaller.
The best part is near the end of class when they turn down the lights and start talking about self-love and finding strength in the mind body connection; at least that’s what I hear. I’m awesome for taking the time for myself, to challenge myself, and find a little peace. There’s something about laying there, a wet noodle that makes the idea of exercising being really good for me sink in. There’s a singing bowl and a quote for example:
“Be a lamp to yourself. Be your own confidence. Hold on to the truth within yourself as to the only truth.”
Light it up and breathe.