I think during this entire series I’ve completely ousted myself as the whitest girl you know. So I’m sure you have a vague idea of what topic I’m about to delve into.
Yup. It’s yoga.
Because I’m too cheap to cough up $10 for a yoga mat and I’m too much of a high-maintenance princess to use one that countless other people have sweated out their toxins onto (seriously gagging just thinking about it), I’ve opted for YouTube and my bedroom floor.
For some reason I still have this idea in the back of my head that yoga is just doing a bunch of languorous stretches, despite my intense Wii Fit yoga sessions throughout high school (doing two or three poses until I got bored, every six months).
Those being my only prior yoga experiences, I chose two half-hour beginner videos. You’d think this would be fairly simple, but my skill level was still reminiscent of Jason Segel’s in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. Thank God no one else was in the room.
I’ve always had the flexibility of an 80-year-old woman. I vividly remember being the only girl in elementary school gym classes who couldn’t touch her toes. Do you know what kind of a feeling of inadequacy that gave an 8-year-old girl?
Surprise; things haven’t improved much since.
The first video was a bit of a bore. A third of it involved just lying on my back, arms outspread, “relaxing and breathing.” The stretches weren’t difficult or taxing, and I found myself slipping back into the mindset that I had while warming up before middle school cross-country practices: I seemed to be doing the stretches correctly, but I wasn’t really feeling anything, so I had to be doing something wrong.
The second video, though, was of a middle-aged Floridian guy who narrated over his own previously filmed clips of himself doing the poses. He really loved to hear himself talk. Ridiculousness ensued.
“Squeeze your tush, your bum, your arse … SQUEEZE IT.”
“Ooooh, it’s good that my foot smells good, so that’s good.”
“Now, picture yourself about to sit in your favorite chair and a CAT jumps up on it right as you’re about to sit down, so you just STOP.”
I’m not sure how I was supposed to have any semblance of control over my thigh muscles when someone was screaming things of this nature at me and we were both in a position that mimicked sitting on a toilet.
I was actually able to do most of the poses, albeit muscles shaking (is it sad that I’m proud of this?). The only one I really struggled with involved lying down, resting my knees against your chest, pointing my feet in the air, grabbing them, and then rocking back and forth. I just immediately fell over every time I attempted to rock.
You can’t win ’em all.
Also, I wouldn’t recommend looking at yourself in the mirror while doing the cow pose or you’ll laugh hysterically and be unable to continue for a few minutes. Or maybe that’s just me.
The hardest part was the breathing. I couldn’t get the inhale/exhale timing right, which is apparently a crucial part of the entire process.
Overall, though, doing yoga actually made me feel like I exercised of my own will, a long-forgotten sensation. And, for a brief hour, I did feel relaxed and at peace.
Then I remembered that I couldn’t shower thanks to the water line breakage and had two exams to study for, a paper to write and research to do for a group project.
Happiness is oftentimes short-lived, but hold on to it while it lasts, my friends.
Cortni Dietz is a sophomore studying journalism at Ohio University and a columnist for The Post. What makes you happy? Email Cortni at cd509910@ohiou.edu.
