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This morning I took one step toward fulfilling a new year's resolution: I took a yoga class at my gym. For years I've said I wanted to take yoga (insert learn to play tennis, learn Spanish, get on of those torches that carmelize the sugar for the perfect top to creme brulee).
Resolved to keep my resolution, I had the sudden realization last evening that I might be expected to bring my own mat. Drat, mat. I had already expended too much mental energy on what I was going to wear, I just didn't have it in me to think about the mat.
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As I was unfurling my mat in the yoga studio, I discovered that the work side of the mat had this lovely floral design down the side. Curses, gay again. Though, it's a very handsome design in a William Morris style. Turns out the gym provides grey, somewhat Spartan mats. I guess I'll stick with the one I brought.
P.S. If ever you think that yoga is easy, remember that the class ended 6 hours ago and my arms and legs still feel like jello.
--Gay Guy
4 comments:
No, I never thought yoga was easy, but with all the choreographed posing and self-awareness its dangerously close to interpretive dance. And you know I can't go there.
Unless there's a grand finale where we all chop cinderblocks in half with our heads.
Well, the mat looked like you might be straight but work at an art museum. Yes, straight guys do work at art museums; a few - the quotas were grandfathered in.
Well if I saw your mat sitting there, I probably would not jump to wondering if its owner was gay. Or straight. I'd just assume he had STYLE. And for the record...who knows where those grey gym mats have been? I'd stick with yours. As for the pain of yoga? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. I've yet to establish a routine...I'll live vicariously through you...
I went to the movies directly after yoga this past Sunday, so I used a mat from the gym. I managed not to obsess.
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