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Yoga, Sex and Speed.

September 25, 2011

While well I know that I shouldn’t seek approval or justification for a much needed day of rest(eff you for judging me!), I do. As I lay in bed from the hours of 9 am until noon when I should have been doing a yoga class or any number of other productive things that don’t include watching 6 episodes of Monty Python’s Flying Circus, I thought to myself “the reason I’m not at yoga right now is I’ve got a bit of a cold and my body is really sore from yoga yesterday.” Of course, I do have the sniffles and my body is wracked with pain (more on one side than the other) but neither of those things were severe enough to keep me bed ridden for majority of the day. Using these “ailments” as justification did however force me to ponder the nature of my body pain as resultant from yoga.

For the most part, the class I took yesterday was pretty standard…began with sun salutes, had some shit in the middle, inversions toward the end, bit of pranayama and then some nondescript seated meditation.  What was out the ordinary though was the “creative” sequencing and the sprinter like pacing. I will leave alone, for the time being, any sequencing issues…I’m but a novice myself and feel forgiving of that particular type of error,  but what I cannot understand is a teacher of a breath based movement class thinking that all students should be basically hyperventilating for the entire course of their yoga class. I was actually indirectly told I was moving too slowly and that I was holding up the class and messing up the group energy. WELL GEE, I’M SORRY.  I didn’t know it was a race. When you give me an exhale pose I think it wise to complete my exhale. Excuse me for mistaking a gentle full inhale and exhale for something more desirable than huffing and puffing.  seriously, I beg your pardon, I do.

A yoga class like that reminded me of a paradigm of the sexual dissonance between a man and a woman. Most women are familiar with the  male’s sexual misstep of speed and force equaling pleasure for their partner. Yes, yes, things are going along swimmingly and she begins to light up with passion, her eyes glimmer with desire…pupils dilate and then WHAM! He’s thwacking away at her like she’s a pinata stuffed with orgasm…but guess what? He’s just wildly swinging away and with each lunge he’s getting farther from the prize. No sir, she will not be bursting with candy for you tonight. You see, speed is not everything.  While you were jack hammering her, she was trying to slow you down so she could actually experience the loving. Maybe it felt good for you, but I am putting money on the fact that she thinks it could have gone a lot better. At the end of the night, she’s not mentally scarred or anything…it was fine. But just know that she probably will lose your number. Yoga teachers that “meth out” (I’m creating this phrase, here and now) their classes are like bad lovers. They just may actually be bad lovers.

When I inevitably run into this teacher in the store, or at a bar things will be awkward. I might avert my gaze until a brief, painful conversation is unavoidable. “Hey there, haven’t seen you around in a while…” “Oh, hi…um..yeah, well, you know. I’ve been…um…busy lately.” “Well, it’s really nice to see you again, maybe see you in class soon?” “Yeah, well, about that…I’m going to a different studio now. I’m really happy there. They just really satisfy certain needs.”

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