Submitted by megan on Sat, 06/30/2007 - 09:31
Although I always appreciate salacious comments and looks from my friends, I must rush to assure you, Steve and Charles, that hot yoga is not sexy. Cause I'm sure what some people were picturing was a light sheen, with maybe a small rivulet of sweat down the runnel of my spine. Nuh-uh. My clothes - running shorts and a sports bra - were soaked.
In fact, when I did the Standing Separate Leg Head to Knee pose, which involves putting your forehead on your knee, with your eyes open, I noticed that my shins were sweating. Profusely. When I wasn't busy trying to figure out how to follow the instructions or whether I was about to pass out from the heat, I was pretty grossed out by myself.
And I think that I grossed someone else out. This woman came in and put her mat beside mine. I was doing some warm ups and stretches. I raised my arms above my heads and interlaced my fingers. I noticed her noticing my hairy pits. She moved. Good lord, I thought, that's some delicate sensibilities.
There is a big gender difference in terms of what's acceptable to show. For all my "hot yoga girls wear thongs" yesterday, there were a lot of women there wearing pants. It was 32 fucking degrees in that room before we started. PANTS?! Let the sweat go free, my friends.
The three men in the class were wearing shorts - one man was nearly wearing a thong - and were shirtless. Technically, I suppose I could go shirtless too, but that seems unlikely to happen.
Anyway, I really liked it, as it turns out. It didn't flare my rosacea up. Quite the opposite, in fact. My skin feels super soft today. I'm a little sore, but not too bad. It left me really tired. At 11 pm, I was really ready for the sleep portion of the day. Fuck me, at 9 pm, I was really ready for the sleep portion of the day. But there was soup to be et and pants to remove.
Eric showed up at my house freshly shaven. What I like to do is kiss a freshly shaven face.
The weekend is shaping up to be a busy one. Off to Algonquin today for a lab for my computer course, and I'm going to bike out and back, and skip the running this weekend.
Tomorrow is Canada Day. I don't really like Canada Day. I don't like the wooting that goes on all over the place. I don't like face painting. I do like a moderate amount of public drunkenness. It's pretty entertaining to see the city loosen up a bit. I don't like puke on the sidewalks.
I'm starting tomorrow with brunch at the lovely David Scrimshaw's house. I am only going because David invited Eric. Ooooh, I was miffed.
"Did you get your invitation to David Scrimshaw's brunch?"
"What? No! When did he send it?"
"What? I checked my email not very long ago. Wait a sec. Let me check again. Nope. He probably used my yahoo account. Maybe my yahoo account isn't working. Can you send me an email there?"
"You have a yahoo account as well as a hotmail and a gmail?"
"Yeah, my asteroidea one."
"Oh, right." Tappity tap tap tappity. "Okay, sent it."
"Huh. There it is. It's working. What is he doing inviting you and not me! Does he like you better than me? Where's my invitation!"
Apparently, my invitation emails (I got two, to two different accounts) got lost in the ether. Lucky for me I have a charming paramour whose coattails I can ride.
Then there are three other parties/barbeques we've been invited to that all start mid-afternoon and go late. I think that might count as overwhelming for me, which means that I will not be able to decide where to go at all and so might just sit on my porch and drink beer and call back to the wooters when they call their wild call.
Or, if we decide to go to all three, you better hope that your party isn't the last party we show up at. Woot.