(CHEEP)
I’ve joined a gym with Claire and Kelsey. It’s a very nice gym–very clean and shiny and country-clubbey. I am not the person in the best shape, but I’m not the person in the worst shape either. Sometimes I forget how to work the mini-lockers and get my keys stuck in them, but mostly I’m pretty good at the whole routine. Every so often
(CHEEP)
we go to a yoga class there. (We tried pilates, but the teacher was weird and there was strange uncomfortable squeezing of ring things and afterwards we felt all crunched and not in a good way.) The yoga teacher is awesome (except for her incomprehensible love of pigeon pose. I HATE PIGEON POSE. GODDAMN RATS ON WINGS. FLEXIBLE IN EEEEVIL WAYS.), but sometimes, all is not right in yogaland. This past Wednesday, yogaland seemed to have been lost to the control of a fascist dictator, bent on torturing the populace.
(CHEEP)
You see, the alarm on the door (or maybe the fire alarm?) was broken, and so, every 30 seconds or maybe a minute, it gave off a loud (very loud)
(CHEEP).
At first it was funny. Every time the cheeping came, even during quiet meditationey type stretching, I cracked up. All the faces , eyes shut in the mirror, cracked up with me, scrunching up in a very un-yoga-like way. I’d like to say that after a while, we forgot about the cheeping, but sadly, I can’t. The cheeping was piercing.
(CHEEP)
And then we noticed that this was not only LOUD CHEEPY yoga, this was SWEATY yoga. Oh yes, friends, readers, critics, the air conditioning was broken. Bikram yoga may be fashionable, it may be hip, but it is NOT what I intended to spend my night doing. Not at all. It was very undignified, even for yoga, an hour usually spent relatively dignity free, as we’re scrutinized, asses in the air, by the whole gym through the wall of plate glass conveniently provided for that purpose.
At least there was no interrogation.
And it was sort of funny.
Sort of.
A little bit, maybe.
