What we hope for:

SEXY WOMEN THIS IS A PARTY I’M THE MAN
It’s not even really yoga. We have a vague inclination that yoga is easy, it’s just stretching, right? It’s not a real sport. And that it’s all women.

What we get:

HOLD THE FART IN
Then we get there. We’re in an intimate environment…with our mind. Our lungs. Our resistance. I play basketball, hike, climb, baseball…I run a little…and yoga is by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done, resistance-wise, short of Buddhist ngondro. It’s not fun. But it is, kinda, Divine—post-yoga. Post-yoga, my upper back has opened up for the first time in a month. My lungs breath deep. I’m present with reality, instead of just the self-concerned discursiveness that clouds my mind’s eye, usually.

Then, after class, we wind up talking. It’s organic, not forced. I let her go, I don’t ask her out—but we’ve made a nice connection. I walk downstairs, 10 minutes later, after talking with a friend and my yoga teacher…and there she is, and we talk more. I introduce myself. And we’re off to the races.

Yoga doesn’t give you what you want. It will ruin your life…but only in the best way possible.

It takes me deeper. It gets my stress out and through. It opens up my tired body and keeps me feeling limber. Trust me.

Yoga disappoints our ego…and that’s a healthy thing.

Yoga Will Ruin Your Life.