Yoga - Not a Complete Waste of Time

  I went to a second yoga class. I documented my first try at it here, remember? So I decided to give it another try.  And my overall conclusion is the very one that you read in the title. "Yoga - Not a Complete Waste of Time".

I said as much after leaving the class. I was trying to express my indifference toward yoga while not completely insulting yoga, the people who enjoy it and all it stands for. In my eloquence (or lack thereof), I'm not too sure I succeeded.

I like yoga. Sort of. It's a challenge - balance, strength, overall fitness, all of that. Absolutely. Focus, relaxation, inner peace. All that good stuff. Really, yoga is great. But I've decided it's just not my thing. At least at this point in my life. You would think I would appreciate the relaxed nature - a big change from my everyday life which is rush rush rush, do this, do that, get it done, crap! I didn't get it all done. Rush rush rush some more. It should be a chance to breathe, to enjoy the challenge, feel my muscles stretching, moving, strengthening, blah blah blah. But I just can't get past the "OK what's next? Let's do the next exercise. I gotta move! I can't sit still! Let me move!" (And I didn't even have coffee before class!)

As I stand in half lotus, breathing deeply, visions of kettlebells and the power and ballistics of the kettlebell moves float through my mind like butterflies in the breeze.

As I bend into a butt-exposing stretch in the silent room, praying no one lets one rip, the sounds of a karate class - pounding music, shouted 'Yessir!"s, kiais and explosive breaths reverberate through my mind like a drum beat.

As I lift my arm in front of me and bend, extending my leg behind, hoping my non-existant cleavage isn't being exposed as I hop and shimmy in an attempt to stay balanced I feel the wind whistling past my ears and feel the wheels upon my feet as I blow down the parkway in my rollerblades like a groom who's late for his wedding.

And then, finally, the class was over. The relaxing stretch and burn was over. The deep breathing was over. The silence was over. I was free. Yes, apparently I completely and utterly miss the point of yoga. I've given up trying to find it. It's elusive, mysterious, out of my grasp.

I was out the door like a shot. Where's my kettlebell? Where are my roller blades? I . . . must . . . move!

Quack!