My dirty Yoga confession
In a typically Back to the Future-esque setting what would you do if the De Lorean we to pull up next to you, open its doors and welcome you into the manic embrace of Prof...
Without even batting an eyelid, I'd jump into that ride and turn the dial back to the eighties, just so that I could have a few words with the little miss me. If you're thinking along the lines of prophetic revelations, you're sorely mistaken... I'd simply say, "My girl- grab a mat and channel pretzel because a yo-yoga-ing you will go".
I've recently restarted my yoga practice with the same ferverent conviction as the local doomsday preacher that lurks around the train station. My practice began a few years back at an actual Ashram, located deep in the mystique of the freaking Southern Suburbs in Cape Town (I kid you not). Since then I've bounced around and downward dogged myself from pillar to post until I finally settled on a gem of a studio which I know call home. It's one of the few heated studio's in Cape Town and although its uber- chic and fresh, the instructors are totally warm and personable.
I'm not overly anal about my weight, well... not more than anything else I suppose. Thankfully the good old family tree smiled on me with good fortune (I'm what you may describe as one size up from Polly Pocket) and savage humour (in grade school my Christmas wish would be to start the new school year a whole three centimeters taller and everyone would recognise). RECOGNISE YOU LUCKY TALL FREAKS...but I've made peace with the height thing now-clearly!
But alas, there comes a time when you get older. When slowly the yeast lying dormant in yor hips and thighs suddenly begins to rise. And before you know it, you have a freshly baked muffin top-boo! I like to call myself sports disabled (insert cough) challenged, but that just it! Yoga isn't a sport. Some call it a lifestyle, some call it a holistic fitness routine, others follow it like a religion. But, simply put, its anything you make your practice out to be- its can be as simple as an hour you have to yourself everyday...and it totally doesn't hurt that it melts off any unwanted pudge, keeps you strong and somehow always offers some mental peace.
Its that exact mental peace that I'm on search for tonight. After my weekend I need to purge my sins and get my bearings in gear. Spending a crazy weekend with the Devil's neighbour in Paarl can be quite taxing on the body...especially if it involves wrestling bears and administrating the Heimlich Maneuverer on a tortoise named Wally. Poor Wally- where in the world are you? Probably with Lemmywinks... The locals joke and kid that once you're in Paarl, you stay in Paarl. Others repeat the urban legend that the mountain range including Paarl Rock has some strange vibes in the granite and that it causes magnetic disturbances in your brain patterns if you're exposed to it for long periods of time. Ahem! After the weekend I had, this sounds totally plausible to me.
So, much like the magnetic pull of the famed Paarl Rock, find your nearest bikram yoga studio, get your ass into that hot room with sexy, sticky strangers and just flow. Find yourself, find your bearings and find the hot bod lurking beneath the muffin tray! Guaranteed, you'll be comming back for more!
Without even batting an eyelid, I'd jump into that ride and turn the dial back to the eighties, just so that I could have a few words with the little miss me. If you're thinking along the lines of prophetic revelations, you're sorely mistaken... I'd simply say, "My girl- grab a mat and channel pretzel because a yo-yoga-ing you will go".
I've recently restarted my yoga practice with the same ferverent conviction as the local doomsday preacher that lurks around the train station. My practice began a few years back at an actual Ashram, located deep in the mystique of the freaking Southern Suburbs in Cape Town (I kid you not). Since then I've bounced around and downward dogged myself from pillar to post until I finally settled on a gem of a studio which I know call home. It's one of the few heated studio's in Cape Town and although its uber- chic and fresh, the instructors are totally warm and personable.
I'm not overly anal about my weight, well... not more than anything else I suppose. Thankfully the good old family tree smiled on me with good fortune (I'm what you may describe as one size up from Polly Pocket) and savage humour (in grade school my Christmas wish would be to start the new school year a whole three centimeters taller and everyone would recognise). RECOGNISE YOU LUCKY TALL FREAKS...but I've made peace with the height thing now-clearly!
But alas, there comes a time when you get older. When slowly the yeast lying dormant in yor hips and thighs suddenly begins to rise. And before you know it, you have a freshly baked muffin top-boo! I like to call myself sports disabled (insert cough) challenged, but that just it! Yoga isn't a sport. Some call it a lifestyle, some call it a holistic fitness routine, others follow it like a religion. But, simply put, its anything you make your practice out to be- its can be as simple as an hour you have to yourself everyday...and it totally doesn't hurt that it melts off any unwanted pudge, keeps you strong and somehow always offers some mental peace.
Its that exact mental peace that I'm on search for tonight. After my weekend I need to purge my sins and get my bearings in gear. Spending a crazy weekend with the Devil's neighbour in Paarl can be quite taxing on the body...especially if it involves wrestling bears and administrating the Heimlich Maneuverer on a tortoise named Wally. Poor Wally- where in the world are you? Probably with Lemmywinks... The locals joke and kid that once you're in Paarl, you stay in Paarl. Others repeat the urban legend that the mountain range including Paarl Rock has some strange vibes in the granite and that it causes magnetic disturbances in your brain patterns if you're exposed to it for long periods of time. Ahem! After the weekend I had, this sounds totally plausible to me.
So, much like the magnetic pull of the famed Paarl Rock, find your nearest bikram yoga studio, get your ass into that hot room with sexy, sticky strangers and just flow. Find yourself, find your bearings and find the hot bod lurking beneath the muffin tray! Guaranteed, you'll be comming back for more!
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