Third yoga class tonight. This evening was the warm yin yoga of stretching so it was very low impact. Unlike the ass kicking I got last Saturday with power yoga, I need this type of class to regain flexibility and range of motion. It was a good night. I wasn't bored as much as the first time and a friend of mine gave me a powerful tool to help concentrate on my breathing. He said that sometimes our minds just want an answer for what we command it to think. I was telling my self to breathe but I wasn't answering the command. So I said in my mind, "breathe in...I am breathing in...breathe out...I am breathing out." Oddly, it worked. For most of the evening. At one point some douche bag started their car and the headlights penetrated the dark glass, curtains, and my eyelids to burn an image directly onto my retinas. Like the after affect of the flash on a camera? Yeah. That frustrated me a little. Shortly after that the trainer for the boot camp next door opened the door, stood there chatting with a few people, then proceeded to walk through our session like we were inanimate blobs of flesh laying on the floor. I kinda lost focus at that point and it was difficult to get it back.
This now brings us to Ethel and the reason I felt compelled to blog tonight.
Ethel is that roll of blubber that sits above my navel. Ethel likes to hang out OVER the button of my jeans on average days. Ethel is the demon that wants cookies, cake, and fettuccine alfredo with garlic rolls. I do an okay job of concealing Ethel on most occasions but when I am wearing yoga pants...she's positively possessed. I am short waisted. This means that when most women wear low rise jeans they rest nicely on their hips. When I wear low rise jeans, it rides right at my waist line. When the yoga pants go on I have to pull them up higher because otherwise I will have that too-long-in-the-stride bridge of fabric spanning the divide of my thighs. It's not an attractive fashion statement nor is it comfortable. This means that I am now wearing my yoga pants above my navel because these effing pants are made for normal shaped women. Whatever. I have a long shirt on over it. As soon as I sat on the floor in the butterfly I could hear Ethel moaning and groaning, straining to be freed from her confines of yoga pants. I leaned forward a little and felt the pants roll slightly. The more I moved the more Ethel strained against the cloth. The more Ethel strained to be free the more my pants rolled down over my belly. The momentum Ethel gathered forced my yoga pants to roll down past my navel slightly to sit precariously on my kangaroo pouch. This meant that as soon as I stood up both Ethel and the kangaroo pouch would be revealed. Uh uh uh Ethel...I remember my lesson from the first class. I wore a longer shirt!
I never knew to give Ethel a name until I heard Wanda Sykes talk about her first experience with Spanx a few years ago. She calls her blubber Esther Roll and fights her demands for cheesecake and alcohol. .
One last thing. I know some of you, my faithful readers, have told me you left comments on my blog posts. For some reason I never see these. Not sure if it was in my settings but I made some adjustments. Since I share on Facebook...go ahead and leave comments there too. I want to know your thoughts...good and bad.
Carrot cake...SHUT UP ETHEL!
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