Hot. Yoga.
I just got back from hot yoga, and I’m totally zonked. Why did I decide to do it in the middle of the day?
I can’t hear a thing in that classroom—there’s the hiss of the coals and the exaggerated breathing of the devotees and the ridiculous non-medical claims flowing from the mouth of the instructor. Before the class, I asked the teacher to be considerate of the fact that I’m hard of hearing, and not talk to me in the class because I’d be embarrassed if I had to keep saying, “Wha? Huh?”
He didn’t care. He told me if I came to class, he was going to talk to me. Period. He was rude about it, and I was completely annoyed. Turned out, I think he was kind of shamefaced about having spoken to me so harshly, so he hardly talked to me at all.
After the class, he came over and said, “Everything all right? I have to talk to you in class—do you see? Because I HAVE THE ROADMAP. These other people might have the steps, but I HAVE THE ROADMAP.” I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. He has the roadmap? Did it tell him to wear those earrings?
•Where the self-abasement begins
Photo courtesy Goddess Spiral at Flickr.
liz | 7:47 PM | Uncategorized
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