Tag Archives: kundalini

On yoga teachers, bendiness, and favorites

Since arriving in Chile, I’ve been on a hunt for the perfect yoga studio and the perfect class. In yogaspeak, I’m looking for a power yoga or ashtanga vinyasa class because I like the flow and athletic challenge. If my writing style is any indication, I can’t meditate for sh*t because my mind is too dang active. It never quiets down. Ever. Seriously. Internally, I’m like that kid you meet and wonder if their parents spike their applesauce with speed: random, awkward, anxious, and, at times, innocently putting my fingers in electrical outlets. Hence, the Kundalini classes I tried weren’t what I was looking for.

In any case, I settled on a studio not far from my apartment that offers Iyengar and an, er,  interesting walk home. And I liked it. I really liked it. In February. With the substitute teacher. She was so friendly and encouraging. But everyone kept murmuring “Just wait until the maestra returns from vacation…” It was obvious this maestra was quite revered.

After the first class I understood why. I became convinced that in a previous life she was either a:

Pretzel

or a malleable glob of this:

Playdoh

The implication (if you are having a hard time following my clip art) is that she is the most limber instructor I’ve ever had.Hands down. Like if you imagine your favorite yoga instructor had a baby with a  circus freak, and that baby turned out to have a genetic mutation that allowed them to bend waaaay beyond what is earthly possible – like a human spiral – then you might be imagining this instructor. She’s crazy talented in a way that implies that it’s not even talent – it’s effortless. More power to her, right?  Or something like that. I’ll admit, I’m envious. I mean, how cool would it be to be all “Yeh, I see that teacup on the HIGHEST shelf, let me grab it with my foot!” Pretty freaking awesome, huh?

And she’s nice, too. To her favorites. You know, the people who have been going to the studio for five years and could almost teach it. And I’m new, something she makes plainly visible every time she corrects my poses or makes me use a prop, so that in the end (pardon the yoga jargon again) I feel like I’m doing a restorative class which is not what I’m paying for.

And you should hear her praise her favorites! Oh she goes on and on about their precision and alignment and how beautiful and wonderful it is. “Sara, please try to be more like Maria. Can you tighten your pelvis like she is and lock out your knees?” In the meantime, Maria’s foot has found its way off her mat and is so precise and aligned that it’s dangling only an inch above my nose.

Yes, it may be time to go studio hunting again. If you know of a good one, let me know.

Like yoga cat, I haz skillz. I think.

The Birthday Weekend

I’d like to say thanks to those who left comments on my last post wishing me a happy birthday and/or delurking themselves. (Little known fact: a hobby of mine is delurking someone. Hint: it’s not always such a good thing.) So thank you! I really do have the best blog readers.

But before I go on and write ad nauseum about my birthday weekend, let me clarify something, my last post wasn’t meant to sound sad or nostalgic. I got a few emails afterwards telling me to cheer up. The ironic part is that I was fairly cheerful when I was writing it and that was my attempt at light-hearted humor. #Fail.

Moving on, it was a full birthday weekend! I have no shame in drawing out my inevitable creep towards 30 into 72 awesome hours. You heard me. We celebrated from Friday to Monday. Wait…That’s more than 72 hours. Whatever. You do the math. And I’d like to share some camera phone images of the weekend with you. You’re welcome.

On Friday night, we went to the theatre. The Municipal Theatre was showing a ballet titled 30 y Tres Horas Baraccompanied with music from Chile’s Los Tres. It was my first time in the theatre and I loved it. I love old buildings, but I love them even more when they are well-maintained like the theatre obviously was.

Teatro Municipal de Santiago

I <3 the theatre boxes. The ballet was great, even if it was a bit contrived to fit Los Tres’ music. Very Mamma Mia-esque, sans the cheesy dialect.

Big chunk of whaa?

After the ballet, we stopped off for a chorillana. It *may* have been my idea. For the uninitiated, a chorillana is a mountain of french fries, fried eggs and onions, sausage, and steak. It is a veritable heap of fat and cholesterol with little redeeming nutritional value. Yes, this is coming from the same person who lived a nearly vegan existence in Texas. Qualifier: I still don’t like to cook meat. I’m never going to say something like, Well, I’m going to whip me up a heart attack on a plate. However, I will eat it if offered (usually), or if someone else cooks it. Call me a flexitarian.

Last night, on my actual birthday, not my pre-birthday, we went to a Peruvian restaurant called El Otro Sitio. It was worth it for the pisco sour alone.

Best Pisco Sour of my LIFE

There must have been a secret ingredient – LIKE CRACK – that they added to the mix because it was so delicious and smooth. Normally, I don’t drink much. I can’t really. After two drinks, I’m ready to dance on a table. I’m what pop culture refers to as a “cheap drunk”, but that pisco sour was amazing. Usually, drinking pisco for me is like taking a kick to the stomach: Instant ulcer. On top of that, the pisco sours are usually too sweet, too sour, or bitter. This one was the perfect mix of all three. I could have married it, but that would have been weird.

Yesterday morning, I got my funemployed butt out of bed to a morning kundalini class and somewhere between the forward folds and the breath of fire, I started feeling the effects of this weekend’s excesses. It was like, OH, hello chorillana! That’s where you’ve been hiding. Gross.

All and all, it was an awesome birthday.

How was your weekend/Monday?