to yoga we go

I once said that, for a twenty-something woman in SF to say that she's into yoga, is wasted breath. Every twenty-something woman in SF is into yoga. Or at least says she is. Despite that observation, I went this past year without a yoga class. Last night changed this.

I went with Helene & Kimon & JBK to yoga flow, and now I get it. You enter from a side street in the Castro, and climb a wide set of stairs. As you sign in, you can hear the chanting inside, and you feel rushed to join in. A huge open room -- ballroom size -- is dimly lit by candlelight, heated to 86 degrees, and filled with yoga mats on the wood floors. The participants -- let's face it, mostly women -- sit facing the center of the room, chanting. Secular church?

I sweated like I haven't since I was in Singapore (where to walk during the afternoon is to soak through your clothes). But it was great. I love the narratives yoga gives you. Like, ok, I'm going to go through these poses pretending it's the only time i'm going to do them, knowing very well I'll have to repeat them an undisclosed number of times (only the instructor knows the number). Sometimes I'll choose to take the less challenging road because my thighs are trembling. Sometimes I'll feel like pushing myself because yes my arm DOES bend that way. Sometimes I'll hold a pose for the sake of the challenge.

This is all to say, it made me feel better about my dissertation. And dating.