It has become apparent to me that the older I get, the more of a tree-hugging eco-loving crunchy-granola vegetarian liberal hippie I am becoming.

Pretty soon, I will just masturbate to thoughts of rainforests, long to know the feeling of running an orangutan refuge center in Indonesia and walk around with a tin of hazelnuts while mainlining chai tea in an IV, convinced that they are the perfect foods.

Well, ok....maybe I'll want to add a bit of cheese to that. And some pasta on the side. With a glass of wine.

Since becoming a vegetarian almost 5 years ago, it's fair to say that the idea of eating a bacon sandwich sends shivers of revulsion up my spine. Not only would the guilt be too great for me to handle, but the truth? I've never liked bacon. Or ham. Or pork chops. Or steak, for that matter. Chicken used to be just about ok, although the smell of rotisserie chicken is quite captivating. I think I only miss turkey at Thanksgiving and the occasional crab meal, but all in all, I have not regretted becoming a vegg-o.

Yesterday we went to an Middle Eastern food shop that we both absolutely adore, and while there we found a new shop had opened near it, an organic, largely vegetarian shop. It was like an Earth Mother Muppet Christmas for me, as I winged bottles of organic salsa, lavash breads and spinach-falafels into my cart. They also had my absolute favorite snack there-roasted and salted broad beans, and I made off with no less than 8 bags of the stuff (hey-you just can't find crunchy-granola food like that here in Whitney Houston, and you never know when you're going to need some roasted broad beans. Preparation, people! Preparation!)

This is all a major change for me, really, becoming such a Granola Girl (albeit, one that shaves the body parts and is a big believer in makeup). In my twenties I was a gun-owning meat-eating tae kwon do-practicing DAR candidate. Now I am a European-dwelling anti-gun ownership pacifist to the core. So the heart? She bleeds more as I get older.

Which is why I am not at all surprised that I have fallen in love with yoga, and fallen in a very big way.

And why the classes-despite my love for yoga and respect for the instructors-are beginning to drive me around the bend.

I take two courses-Hatha Yoga (twice a week, if I can make it) and Ashtanga yoga once a week (and it's my goal to get Angus to try yoga just once, even though I think I am on the losing front on that aspect). Hatha Yoga is what is basically known as yoga or the normal ideas of yoga, but the class I take incorporates a lot of what's called Bikram Yoga, which is a type of yoga based around 26 postures, and in which the goal is to have a slinky for a spine and to be able to inspect the back of one's knees. You know. As one does.

Bikram yoga is the one that I want to be good at. It's all kinds of bendy goodness in the 26 poses, many of which I can already do and some of which my creaky back cannot do (hello, number 18!). For pictures that may make you reach for the Ben-Gay and the Extra Strength Bayer straight away, see here. The point is to crank the heat up in the room as high as it can go (this is why it's also called hot yoga) and the ideal temperature to use is 105 degrees. Think Death Valley kind of temperatures, only without the cacti. You go on an empty stomach and spend the two hours getting your body into positions that you had no idea existed outside of a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

All of which sounds extremely fabulous to me. I love forcing my joints to stretch further, harder, and to whip myself into near-painful muscular pulls. I love feeling the swing and throb of my muscles, even if I do hate the meditation at the end. The Bikram idea of Sweatin' to the Oldies while doing it appeals on so many levels-fun, stretchy, hot exercise without the horror of Richard Simmons. What's not to like? And you never know when you may need to be bendy-say if you need to fill in for a magician, impress a professional football team, or escape from a filling water tank a la McGuyver.

I've missed two weeks of yoga due to work constraints and the trip to Wales, but I looked forward to going on Thursday as I hadn't been in a while and my muscles were desperate for a good stretch. That, and that dweedle was due to be away on her "Life Course", and so we would have peace in the classroom for once.

Laughing, full of carefree light and breathing out the negative energy, I positively skipped into the room. I decided I would lay out my yoga mat by the window, but leave enough room to get two more yoga mats for others in front of the windows as well. For once, three people could be by the light. For once, there would be no gawping layers of Reena flesh from between her tiny halter tops, and no sign of the black-rooted peroxided mane, no constant attempts of yoga sucking up. Her, and her constant comparisons to books she's read. Her, and her constant monopolization of the instructors in a room full of women.

But it was not to be.

I bounced into the room and in one fell swoop my heart crashed to the floor as I was met by Reena's twat floating straight up in the air as the practiced Position 8. And as usual, she took up the remaining space in front of the windows, meaning that no one else could have a mat by the light.

And there in the flesh is the reason why my yoga classes are driving me mental.

"I've just returned from St. Kitts!" she said breathlessly, flipping upwards, her face red.

What? I thought she was on some life course in the middle of the forest, communing with elves and pretending that she wasn't bored out of her mind with the no-talking and the segregated sleeping bunks? You can have life courses in the Caribbean? You can have life courses in the Caribbean and not shag and drink drinks with umbrellas? Do human beings behave that way, really?

"I had the. Best. Ahstanga. Teacher. Ever!" she crowed. She looked at the instructor Jocelyn. "He was so much better than you lot." she said earnestly.

The other women and I strapped on our boxing gloves, planning on Reena meeting the business end of our rolled up yoga mats. It'd fit. I'm sure of it.

But Jocelyn smiled kindly and nodded. "I imagine he was!" she agreed nicely. Her humility was impressive. I love Jocelyn, and her yoga teaching. I would've told Reena that if she didn't like it, she could fox trot oscar and do yoga on the hot tarmac. This must be why I am still a young learner Padawan.

Reena nodded. "It was amazing, the poses he could do. He could do them all. He had such huge muscles..." she trailed off, looking away. The other women and I look at each other uncomfortably. Yoga trousers show any kind of wet marks, I wanted to warn Reena. Better keep those fantasies in check.

The class took off, and I found that two weeks away hadn't done any damage-I was pretty bendy and comfortable. I was pleased that I was able to take some of the positions further than I ever had before-sitting cross-legged I found that I was able to get my knees completely flat on the floor, which Jocelyn exclaimed over and which Reena shot me a filthy look over.

Score.

I've become a truly sad individual in that I have yoga and pilates DVDs at home and a practice yoga mat (although not the one I really want, as they won't ship overseas). I look forward to the yoga classes, so much so that I absolutely hate being late, hate missing a second of it. I would like to think that they're helping me emotionally or psychologically, but as the ass bleed continues to the point where I wonder if Lizzie Borden is living in the toilet, I know that the rewards I am getting from it are physical only.

I've done more research and have abandoned Kundalini yoga (it's all about the Spiritual and the Breathing and the Chakras and the Chanting and the Hey-Hey We're the Monkees. I can't be doing with that. I hate meditating, mostly because I hate sitting still. And I can't lie down and meditate, as I tend to fall asleep within seconds. And I won't chant as I feel like a real asshole doing that. So really, meditation and I? We're not friends.) I am really, really interested in exploring Bikram yoga in its more pure form, and to that extent, I think I have found a decent place that has classes.

But it's far away from Whitney Houston.

Which is ok I guess, since for a few very real reasons it looks like we are leaving our beloved Whitney Houston very, very soon.

More on that tomorrow.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 08:52 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
Post contains 1591 words, total size 9 kb.

1 Damn cliff hangers ... are you sure you don't write for Neighbours on the side?

Posted by: Rob at July 25, 2005 11:03 AM (kXZI6)

2 bikram is the only yoga to be doing! at least in my world and we'll see if I might be able to arrange having a mat shipped over by a friend...

Posted by: stinkerbell at July 25, 2005 11:12 AM (ZznPv)

3 Damn, so I have to check back tomorrow??? ;-), very good post.

Posted by: Miguel at July 25, 2005 11:22 AM (ZdPYd)

4 Some of those poses look...uhm...interesting. No way is my lard ass getting into them.

Posted by: ~Easy at July 25, 2005 12:54 PM (L0wuQ)

5 Not relocating to NYC area by any chance?

Posted by: drew at July 25, 2005 01:27 PM (CBlhQ)

6 The link for the one that you like on the Gaiam site isn't working for some reason... let me know which one it is, and if you want, I can buy it here then ship it out to you.

Posted by: amber at July 25, 2005 01:42 PM (VZEhb)

7 Yay Helen, but we much prefer you meditatin' out loud on your blog so we all can benefit! Anything less is like speaking in tongues without an interpreter; a real waste. But your meditations aren't wasted, Helen, because you share.

Posted by: Roger at July 25, 2005 02:16 PM (8S2fE)

8 The class I go to is Bikram-esque, althought they don't use that term. They just call it Hot Yoga. It's 34 poses over 90 minutes in a room heated to 98.6. I adore this class! I suck at it right now, but I know I will improve as I go on. I only found the class about three weeks ago and then had to take two weeks off because of work and travel as well. I go back tonight and I am so looking forward to it. I even bought two new yoga tops that cover more than a sports bra but are cooler than a t-shirt. I'm not ready to show my flabby tummy to the world just yet!

Posted by: donna at July 25, 2005 04:53 PM (1dG8s)

9 Someone tried to take me to a Bikram yoga class a few years ago, and I thought that they were secretly trying to kill me. It's evil.

Posted by: sporty at July 26, 2005 03:22 PM (NsnoE)

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