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My name is Liz. I need direction. I overuse commas. My house is a mess, my hair needs a trim and I have no marketable skills: It’s fun here, you’ll see!

Got a question, comment, proposal of marriage? Great! Email me at liz@theproductivecough.com

Contact Me, Folks!

Got a question, comment, proposal of marriage? Great! Email me at liz@theproductivecough.com

Show Your Love

January 28th, 2010

Om.

Just wanted to let you all know that I did Yoga in my living room this morning. I found a DVD that was available to watch instantly on Netflix, so I threw down a towel, took off my shoes, and hit play. Here’s the thing about me and yoga- I don’t know how to do it. In fact, so minimal is my knowledge of Yoga that I’m not sure whether or not I should capitalize it.

I quickly learned, however, that yoga is for people with more flexibility, more patience, and a lower BMI than I have. Each time the chipper Yogini told me to roll into “Downward Facing Dog,” I felt a little ashamed, and very heavy. Upon lunging, twisting and reaching my way into “Warrior I,” I promptly fell over sideways. That was just the beginning.

“Exhale up into Bridge Pose, locking your hands underneath you and walking your shoulder blades together until you feel heat in your core,” said the teacher.

“What the crap?” I asked her.

“Place your right leg under your body and reach your left leg all the way out to the side and exhale, bringing your hand up and over, and inhaling, opening your chest,” said the teacher.

“Ouch,” I replied.

Each time I came out of a pose, and into some kind of a lying down position, I plunked to the ground with a delicate “Uungh!” My neck cracked, my spine popped, and my hip made a very unsettling squishing sound.

“And now we’re really going to feel the burn with our Ab Blaster Yoga!” the Yogini announced.

“I’m going to eat some Nutella and have a nap!” I told her.

And I did. The end.

2 comments to Om.

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