Does anyone else not get yoga?

Guys, I want to like yoga. I want to like it almost as much as my friend Jill wants to like coffee. Its right up my alley. I’m a vegetarian philosophy major who is naming her kid after a woodland creature. I had exactly one day in San Francisco last month and I chose to spend my time finding the Haight-Ashbury sign. How is it possible I don’t like yoga? It would be like turning my back on homemade yogurt and Burning Man. This is an outrage!

I think most north shore women would be into shopping at Union Square, not watching young white people pretend to be homeless.

I think most north shore women would be into shopping at Union Square, not watching young white people pretend to be homeless.

I hear all you ladies with your zen and your ommmm or whatever. It has been suggested that yoga would help my sciatic nerve pain (thanks pregnancy with twins!) but I just, can’t. It feels like I’m just standing around in a room with people who smell like garlic and bajingo. It’s like, “stand up! Now bend down! Back up! Breathing is the hardest thing, you will never master it.” Except I am a boss at breathing. It’s human interaction and housework on my shoulders, brother.

But the passion! I’m missing out on all that passion! Damn, if I could feel what my tandem Facebook aquaintance Sarah feels, I’d suck yoga up with a straw. I’d shoot it with soda and dance naked in the Viagra fountain. Not that I’ve done that*.

“I had a yoga experience that was positively spiritual. I closed my eyes at the end, and while deep breathing, actually saw above me a blue sky filled with cherry tree branches full of blooms. I know, a little crazy, but totally epic.”

Where are my cherry branches? Where is my catapult into the land of whimsy? All I can think of when the class is stuck in “child’s pose” for half an hour is how much the room smells like feet and how this nap would be better at home in my bed.

It’s not that I haven’t given yoga a chance. I wanted that puppy to roar. My first yoga class was at the Bally’s near Boystown in a class taught by a faboo chatty dude who liked to shout the poses and chastise us for our hangovers. That was probably more like “yoga”, although, that was the most fun I ever had at yoga class. It went downward hill from there. I moved on to Serious Yoga. I studied at Sivananda Yoga Vendanta Center where not only did I follow all the instructions, I even went to special workshops where we sat crisscross applesauce on the floor and people talked about their anger. Once, we even ate some indian food together. I have to say, the eating and chatting was pretty fun. Of course, I just liked talking to people and curry is the bomb. But the yoga itself was still boring. My quest to like yoga feels like that time I read the Celestine Prophesy and kept thinking the whole time, “I’d never run off to Peru for this bullshit”.

Look, I know not all truths need to be said. I will never tell you what I really think of your new bangs. The time has come, however, to give it to you like a grown up about yoga. It is boring. The emperor has no clothes, people! It just feels like another fad, like when a girl in my 8th grade homeroom said Ace of Base was a band here to stay.

I’d love to be wrong. Help me! HELLLllLllPPPPpp MmeeeeEEEEee! *swirls away in a wind of angry commenters*

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I mean, if this dude endorses it, what can go wrong?

*I’ve totally done that.


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