It Hurts to Type

Here's a quiz for you:

What do you get when you combine this:And this?
Answer: The Yoganatrix

We had a substitute for yoga today. Now, normally, the term "substitute teacher" makes me think of diagramming sentences (I use to love diagramming sentences, it really appealed to my sense of organization). Moreover, it makes me think of slacking off. Wrong!! (Insert annoying buzzer noise here.) Normally, Monday yoga features Lisa. She, of the 'Don't-do-this-posture-if-it-causes-any-discomfort/Would-you-like-a-backpress?'-Lisa. It's a nice way to ease into the week.

Today, we had Pa-tree-see-ah. Or perhaps it was she who had us. I should have seen bad things coming when we started off in Child Pose. Anyone not familiar with this yoga position may visualize Wayne and Garth in full we're-not-worthy-posture. Only instead of Alice Cooper, we were worshiping at the altar of Pa-tree-see-ah.

She's this beautiful, black-haired, petite Latina, with a mellifluous accent. When you've been holding in Proud Warrior so long that it feels more like Begging Peasant, she coos, "I know your legs are on fire but hold it for a moment longer...for me." And the thing is, like any good submissive, you find yourself wanting to please her. You want her to tell you "A-very good!"

So today, muscles that I've never used in nearly a year of "regular" yoga are waking up and kicking me in the head. At the end of class, I rolled over to my friend and fellow yogi and mused that if we were to follow the Yoganatrix's training for just a month or two, we'd be 120 pounds and CUT. Or we'd be dead.

Namaste.