On Sunday, I went to a free yoga class at the Presidio Sports Basement. Luckily Michelle called me and I managed to drag my ass out of bed in time. She and Brian were already there and ready. The class was largely women--no surprise there. In yoga, you are supposed to concentrate on your breathing to the point of controlling where in your body you inhale the air. You use the breathing to to focus your attention away from the mental aspect of holding poses for an extended period of time. It leads to a heightened state of calmness/awareness. (Or dizziness if you are me and didn't have breakfast and can't remember to inhale/exhale at the correct times. Sometimes, I am convinced there is little difference between nirvana and low blood sugar/oxygen levels....)
We went through all kinds of positions--the dog, the cat, rocking the baby, the warrior, the kitchen table--there seriously seems to be a yoga pose for pretty much any object you can think of. Some of the stretches hurt so good. Others were easy and some made me inwardly scream their name. After a certain point, awash in tranquility, we started doing pelvic stretches. Between that and the deep breathing all I could think about was tantric sex and how I'm not having any. At all. Le sigh. (Though you best believe I made a mental note that this is a "girly" activity to drag a guy along to that we could both appreciate and, ahem, "thank" each other for later...)
At the end of the hour I felt more relaxed and limber. Then little kiddies started filing in for their class and it was back to reality, more recharged and slightly less skeptical of connecting with the "temple" that is my body.
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