Contortionist, much?

Various roommates and friends who for some crazy reason have a taste for exercise have (finally, somehow, I have no idea why) inspired me to try yoga. I have this awful purple mat that I bought on one of my spurts a few years ago and I pulled it out, watched the dust fall off in snowy chunks, and smiled at it as if it were an old friend.

I can do this, I told myself eagerly. I can so do this.

I move daringly toward the living room, pop in the 30 minute DVD, and roll out the ugly mat. As soon as I feel my feet squish into the whatever-it's-made-of, I sigh. This can't be too bad. Michelle does this all the time. Granted she's probably way more limber than I am..because she actually uses her body in the gym...but oh, I can do this.

The DVD is set somewhere between Hawaii and Heaven. Immediately, jealously kicks in. What the hell? If I'm going to contort my body into various, ungodly positions, I at least want to hear waves rush at my ankles, and feel the tickle of wind on my sweaty, dripping forehead.

So I closed my eyes. I'm a good pretender.

The woman, Susan something or other, held her hands to her face in a prayer-like position and uttered "Namaste". I burst into fits of laughter. My sister came downstairs and asked what I was laughing about. I told her she should join me in this fantastic endeavor. So... she did.

Before we got too started, the instructor pulled out a set of "bricks" - two blue, soft-looking square..bricks - and began to place her hands on them and sit on them...and so I paused the video.
Nobody told me I would need bricks. Ugly purple mat? Check. Sports bra? Yep. Bricks? Uh.

So I used my resources; books. I used a thick Shakespeare compilation for my right brick, and a mix between a novel and a Bartender's Guide for my left brick. Let's just say none of these "bricks" worked out too well. At all.

Then the twisting and stretching and laughing ensues. Instructor Susan wants us to touch our toes. Um. After finally, a little, brushing my toe-skin in an exhausted huff, Lacey starts to laugh, saying I'm doing it wrong. How in the world can I be doing it wrong? Your knees are bent, she points, and the whole laughing process continues...

And as we place our butts high and mightly in the air, and Susan tells us to close our eyes, feel our bodies, I can't keep track of when to exhale and inhale, and how can you not feel your body when pangs of utter un-stretchable ligaments are tearing and ripping at the seams? My goodness, Susan, take it down a notch!

Finally, after my books have slid all over the mat into places where they are not supposed to be, and my legs feel like jell-o and my purple ugly mat lied to me several times about its comfort, turned to Lacey and said, "Well. That was fun. See you tomorrow morning?"