Yoga

I recall an early moment from a Woody Allen short story in the New Yorker some years ago. He describes a man throwing out his back, and the position of his spine is likened to a Möbius strip. I don't feel quite that pounded apart from my initial yoga sessions--all two of them--but I am sore.

The Muse has us getting healthier this way, and good for that, but man did Rodney Yee put us through the ringer on his Power Yoga: Strength (for Beginners) DVD. The Muse had a tape of this from years ago, but when we put it in the VCR the machine ate the tape. So DVDs were purchased, and apparently Mr. Yee has updated his beginners fare, adding various suspension moves one might more often find male gymnasts performing during a floor routine or even on the pommel horse.

Reviewers at Amazon, ever out to prove Aristotle's warnings about democracy, complained that this yoga DVD set was (a) too simple for even beginners, (b) too difficult for beginners, and (c) perfect for beginners.

I've had a yoga mat and strap for a good spell, and two years ago was decently flexible, but I'd never tried an actual yoga instructor-led workout. (I'm also the sort of person who rarely reads directions.) OUCH.

Damn you downward dog!

Even more annoying: it's a satisfying pain. I feel really good now. I'm sore, but I feel really good. Bendy Wendy (link goes to YouTube) would be proud.

LET THE REAL PAIN BEGIN

Tonight the Cubs embark on their probably brief post-season journey. And I will once again be thrown under the emotional bus.