I recently began doing yoga at the local gym. It’s a new year. I need to chill out. Everyone else is doing yoga, too.
I waited until the middle of January. I’m hoping all the resolution folks had dropped out and enrolled. I wish I could say I enjoy it, but I don’t.
First, yoga isn’t cardio. You don’t work off many calories doing yoga. Still, while you’re doing yoga, you aren’t eating. Call it a draw.
Problem is, all I think about during yoga is where I’m going to eat when I’m done. I feel guilty for not doing cardio, but the machines are so dirty, covered with male yuck. I can’t deal with it. Mostly, I’m lazy and cardio is too much like work.
Second, yoga is boring. I lie there doing all these outrageous stretches and poses. I want to scream, “Is it over yet?”
Furthermore, I am not a pretzel. Move on! Okay, inhale. Now exhale.
I could have sushi after. Wait, I’m trying to watch my starches. I guess I could do sashimi, but it’s too expensive. Inhale.
I could get Thai, but they use too much sugar; I’m watching my sugars. Gawd forbid I should become a diabetic. Ouch, is that my sciatic nerve? Nor do I wish to be overweight. Exhale.
How about salad, I could have Waldorf salad, with loads of walnuts? Nah, I don’t eat greens anyone else has touched. Speaking of which, I wonder if the yoga mats are clean. I must remember to bring antibacterial wipes next time. Inhale.
Third, I just spent $200 on yoga gear, which this gym doesn’t use. Blanket, strap, block and mat carrier, items I don’t need, as I’m using the germy mats, here at the gym. The list goes on. I even bought yoga socks.
They say, “Om,” every five seconds; not really, but they should. Speaking of “Om,” what’s that all about? Is it a mantra? I already had a mantra assigned when I did Transcendental Meditation (TM).
Regarding that TM manta, I misheard when someone assigned my mantra. For twenty years, I was telling my father to beat me. Inhale.
Hey, my inner thighs don’t do that! They did when I was younger, but that’s a story for another day. Now they don’t. Exhale.
What’s with this heat? I’m menopausal. I’m always hot enough. Didn’t that Bikram guy recently get into a world of hurt for bopping his disciples? Exhale.
I can’t believe Gwyneth Paltrow likes this crap. Then again, she’s making millions with a line of yoga wear. What does she care that I ache? Inhale.
Okay, where was I? I think they have no carb pizza at the Larchmont Pizzeria. Wait! How can a pizza have no carbs? Doesn’t that make it soup? I bet it’s salty. I must watch my salt. I don’t want to develop high blood pressure, which is why I’m doing this stupid yoga, in the first place!
In yoga, there are positions named after both dogs and cats. I don’t see my cats doing yoga, but perhaps they partake as I sleep. Dogs will do anything for a belly rub.
What is planking? Doesn’t construction involve planks? Why do I have to pretend to be a plank?
I have plates in my left wrist, which resemble planks. I cannot plank! Yet, I do, which is okay for a minute, but now they want me to raise my right leg. What am I, a dog?
Now I’m on three legs and my wrist hurts so much more. Now, the instructor says, “Lift your right arm.” Are you kidding?
I’m exhausted. I haven’t done anything! Screw it. I’m leaving and having pizza soup. Namaste, suckers.
Wendy Vega ran the board for radio legends "Cousin Brucie" and Dan Ingram, at WABC-AM, and Zacherle at WPLJ-FM, all in New York City. At WNEW-AM, Jonathan Schwartz stole her lunch and she became great friends with the legend of radio legends, William B Williams. Then Vega moved to news, first WINS-AM 1010, in New York City, later television stations in Los Angeles. Today, she is a former television news editor replaced by a machine. She's a writer living near the train station in Larchmont, New York. Joan Rivers came from Larchmont, NY. Maybe the same fate will befall Vega as befell Rivers. Watch this space.
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