I nervously walked into the yoga studio and signed up for my First Class is Free class. A few days earlier JD came home with an information packet and said I needed to try it. Your back will thank you, he said as he unloaded groceries from the trunk.
Deciding to take my yoga practice to the next level (and by 'next' I mean, like, begin), I walked into the new studio and signed up. The girl with the perfectly zen face told me the room reached 105-degrees, so I should drink plenty of water. Wait, whaaaat?! I called JD in a panic and accused him of sending me to the sixth ring of hell, otherwise known as hot yoga. I can't leave, I muttered into my cell phone and admitted my pride was on the line. Perfectly Zen Face handed me a complimentary bottle of water...HOW COULD I LEAVE NOW?!
I won't go into details, but what I will say was I felt like it was an aqua aerobics class because I was drowning. In sweat. The Pacific, the Atlantic, and me.
Unwilling to reveal I was new to class, I coiled, twisted, and stretched undeterred by the heat (I, apparently, aspired to be the valedictorian of Downward Facing Dog pose), but couldn't walk out of class when we finished. I slumped in a corner, while everyone else walked out with their inner light shining, and hoped my legs would regain their composure.
Looking much like a baby giraffe, I tried to quietly sneak out of the studio when PZF called out to me. The studio was offering a complimentary week for new students, she said, and then smiled when she said she'd see me tomorrow. Internet, THIS IS ALL JD'S FAULT.
Which leads me to another installment of Kisses and Disses...