Sunday night hot yoga

August 29, 2011

I’ve started going to the 7pm class on a Sunday evening because the rather lovely Heidi is the instructor. Or is that instructress?

Anyway, Heidi is a great favourite of mine because she wears little black shorts with a pink bikini top. Pink and pink would be better, but it doesn’t really matter, I suppose. It is a shame that we spend so much of the class with our foreheads hovering around our knees. It means I don’t get to focus on Heidi quite as much as I’d like to. And I am not the only one. The 7pm class is mat to mat testosterone. A few girls are dotted around here and there, but they are probably lesbians. Why else would you do a hot sweaty class on a Sunday evening? No Sunday roast before (impossible, I did it once and got the most dreadful indigestion) and no Sunday roast after (near death means I have no option but to take to my bed immediately after class and stay there until Monday morning). Anyway, somehow, despite the requirement to get my forehead to my knees (impossible, even after several months), something lures me back week after week. Heidi.

I try to catch her eye after class. She hangs around by the reception desk, a small white towel slung casually over her shoulders, crunching on an apple (as one does). Usually, she is deep in conversation with some Adonis who feels the need to regale her with tales of his knee injury due to an encounter with a great white shark while riding waves in Australia (okay, I exaggerate, but you get my picture), while still wearing skin tight speedos, sweat glistening on bulging biceps that quite frankly don’t need yoga.

“Hey, great class,” said an Adonis yesterday, doing that weird hi-five American thing that everyone under the age of 30 seems to do nowadays.

“You did fab,” Heidi purred.

“You’re such a great teacher,” the Adonis grinned, “I feel just great with you.”

I bent over and pretended to tie up my laces while fighting the urge to be sick. I don’t know whether it was the creepiness of the Adonis or the fact I had spent 90 minutes with my bottom in the air (well, may be not for all the 90 minutes but that blood rushing to the head for so long can’t be good for you).

Perhaps I need to go all American and do hi-fives. Perhaps I need to wear speedos in class. Perhaps I just need to get my forehead to my knees and all will be clearer.

Heidi, if you are reading this, go for pink and pink next week.That would be really nice.


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