I have a confession to make:
I’m trying desperately to lose 10 pounds. My current weight (depending on what time of the day AKA when my last bowel movement was) is 127-129
The hardest part of trying to lose weight is telling people that you are trying to lose weight. The most common reaction goes something like this: “OH BUT WHY?? You are perfect the way you are! You dont neeeeed to lose weeeighttt eeeehhhhhh”
And I think to myself, yea. No shit I don’t NEED to lose weight. I’m not dying. I don’t NEED to do anything, but what if I want to? What if I would feel better about myself if I made my goal weight? Relax everyone. I’m still sneaking pizza and bourbon balls (never out of season). I’m still drinking insane amounts of sugar with all the fucking whiskey cocktails I drink and I’m still too lazy to run more than 2 miles a day.
ANYWAYS because of this new project that I’ve made for myself I randomly decided to try a Hot Room Yoga class for the first time a week ago. I had only done yoga once before. Two years ago. On the living room of my best friend. In the middle of August. So needless to say, I’ve never done yoga. And to be fair, the yoga enthusiasts really are a pain in my ass. But i wanted to try it anyways and figured it would be a good way to detox the past 2 weeks of drunk that I’ve been.
When I arrived to my first class the beautiful slender women behind the desk ask if I’ve ever done it before.
Well, duh. Of course I lied.
Yea, I’ve done it once before… a while ago….
“Well great, its all the same poses so you should be able to keep up.”
Uh. Right. OK.
I changed into my exercise out fit (tron pants, sports bra, olive tank top from 1999) and walked into the 102 degree room. Looking for an open spot to set my mat I noticed (to my relief) that there were all different types of people in there…. but none of them were wearing a shirt. Now, I’m not to comfortable even wearing a two piece bathing suit at a family reunion let alone sweating in nothing but tron pants and a bra. So i kept my shirt on.
This class went on for 90 god damn minutes. In those 90 minutes I pretended that I knew what the fuck I was doing but really I was just really good at glancing around the room looking at what everyone else was doing. I felt like i was 10th grade math class again. I was cheating. Half way through I realized why no one wore a shirt. My green tank top had turned black with sweat. And that shirt started to reek of whiskey and cottage cheese.
I survived some how. Walked back home in my own drunken sweat like a homeless person. Downed a liter of water, fell into the shower and passed out on the couch while eating left over Dominos and watching Star Trek reruns.
I’ve had two more classes since then, every time I learn something a little new…. but I still refuse to take my shirt off. You are asking just too much from me.
