I like to be a “dude” just as much as the next American guy and all the typical stuff that comes with it.
I’ll check out a girl’s ass with no remorse.
I love nothing more than chest bumping my buddies when my favorite football team scores.
I’ll tell you to quit being a pansy if you ever even mention the word “LOVE” in my sight.
You name it. The list of shit about being a dude I love is endless.
That is why you will seldom hear me talk about one of my favorite hobbies.
That is going to a regular yoga class.
However, I do openly admit to going to “Bikram Yoga.”. I think the heat makes it grueling enough that I can justify going as a dude.
The regular classes are weird. They’re uncomfortable. And, The beginning of class just makes me feel plain awkward to be honest.
I still feel one million times more sane after a class. And, that is why I will always carry on with my secret little habit.
Going to yoga class, in Taiwan, has not even remotely close to lessened the awkward sting of going to yoga.
I actually will wait to go into the class until about one minute before the class starts.
This is to make ABSOLUTELY certain I am not the only dude in there.
Somehow, I managed to up the ante of awkwardness in this afternoon’s 13:20 to 14:20 class.
Why the fuck the class starts at 20 after is beyond me.
About 5 minutes into the class, we started our first “runner’s lunge” pose of many for the day.
A “runner’s lunge” is pretty much what it sounds like.
One leg lunges forward , while the other goes back giving you a pretty decent stretch.
Today’s “runner’s lunge” was extra special.
That was because I suddenly heard a gigantic ripping noise as I eased into the pose.
This noise was loud enough to be heard over the speakers, and felt like it lasted for 2 of the longest seconds of my life.
The reason I was so sensitive to this noise was because the horrifying sound, was actually the crotch line in my pants being shredded and mutilated.
It left me with a cut-out right dead center in my crotch larger than you could possibly imagine.
Instantly, I thought maybe I should just “call er a day.”
But, my other instinct saying ,”You have boxers on”. It’s no big deal.” proudly took over.
So, I politely stayed in the room for the whole class trying not to make any more rips.
With 90 percent of my crotch-line looking like somebody used it for bb-gun target practice, it can’t get any worse, right???
Think again my friends. That sucker kept on ripping. And, the hole kept getting bigger.
My emotions were an interesting mix between feeling quite foolish, and just not giving a shit. I had already committed myself to staying.
What’s the difference between an absurdly large rip, and a full blow-out, right?
Finally, after 60 minutes of twisting and turning, and hoping my nut sack didn’t fly out like a free bird, the class was over.
So, I just calmly got up, and walked out of there with my legs kept as closely together as possible.
I’m not quite sure that really did anything.
The day is over and my pants are ripped.
But, I will still be back there next Thursday at 13:19 sharp as long as I am not the only “dude.”