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Went to my first yoga class today. With an actual live yoga instructor.
At what point, exactly, did I lose my mind enough to think this was a good idea?
So sore. Soooooo sore.
Also, when one is completely and utterly out of shape, has just woken up two hours before hand and hasn't actually had anything to eat or drink, one should probably not be surprised when the urge to vomit springs up somewhere around the fifteenth downward dog.
I'll be hearing that in my sleep, by the way. Downward dog. And now, the downward dog pose. Okay, back to the downward dog.
I hate the downward dog.
I wussed out and had to sit on my little yoga mat many times during the 50 minute class, just until my stomach settled enough that I was pretty sure that the next time I upended into the f'in downward dog I wouldn't heave. Thankfully, I was not the only overweight, out of shape person in the class (the majority of us wore "Haha, you want me to want? Hahah. No." faces at least once, even though we gamely gave it our best shot). There were two ladies who were pretty good at this yoga stuff and one woman who probably could have stepped in to teach because she was extremely bendy.
Luckily, the instructor kept most of the class pretty simple (although not simple enough for my tummy, but since mother nature decided to smite me unexpectedly today, that's not terribly surprising) while sneaking over to rubber girl and suggesting modifications to the positions that would make them "more hardcore" for her.
On one hand, I can't do a push up to save my own life so easing down from the plank to "hover" over the mat is just not going to happen. On the other, I can rock the butterfly like whoa.
To celebrate surviving our first class, Sarah and I considered going to Whataburger and getting a patty melt. Because we have no real respect for our bodies, it seems. In the end, we went to Olive Garden and I nearly inhaled three bowls of salad and a bowl of soup.
At what point, exactly, did I lose my mind enough to think this was a good idea?
So sore. Soooooo sore.
Also, when one is completely and utterly out of shape, has just woken up two hours before hand and hasn't actually had anything to eat or drink, one should probably not be surprised when the urge to vomit springs up somewhere around the fifteenth downward dog.
I'll be hearing that in my sleep, by the way. Downward dog. And now, the downward dog pose. Okay, back to the downward dog.
I hate the downward dog.
I wussed out and had to sit on my little yoga mat many times during the 50 minute class, just until my stomach settled enough that I was pretty sure that the next time I upended into the f'in downward dog I wouldn't heave. Thankfully, I was not the only overweight, out of shape person in the class (the majority of us wore "Haha, you want me to want? Hahah. No." faces at least once, even though we gamely gave it our best shot). There were two ladies who were pretty good at this yoga stuff and one woman who probably could have stepped in to teach because she was extremely bendy.
Luckily, the instructor kept most of the class pretty simple (although not simple enough for my tummy, but since mother nature decided to smite me unexpectedly today, that's not terribly surprising) while sneaking over to rubber girl and suggesting modifications to the positions that would make them "more hardcore" for her.
On one hand, I can't do a push up to save my own life so easing down from the plank to "hover" over the mat is just not going to happen. On the other, I can rock the butterfly like whoa.
To celebrate surviving our first class, Sarah and I considered going to Whataburger and getting a patty melt. Because we have no real respect for our bodies, it seems. In the end, we went to Olive Garden and I nearly inhaled three bowls of salad and a bowl of soup.