too much is never enough

posers yoga: pro bum
This morning the C-man and I did a little yoga. Sure, he was grumpy with me. He doesn't take direction well (from me) and views me saying "do it at your own pace" as some sort of failure on his part. As I reminded him this morning, even the yoga automaton on the DVD provides endless reminders to "do what feels right", to "honour the feelings in your body" like pain and crankiness, and that irritation you feel when your partner is telling you what to do. I'm pretty sure when I told him to hold triangle pose for five breaths he muttered "bossy boots" under his breath. We did our little work out and then I sat on him until he agreed to make me a blueberry shake.

We did not, however, do our yoga in our new yoga pants. Why? Because they were being hemmed. And why did I buy yoga pants when my pajamas fit just the same and are already on my body when I roll out of bed? Because, like many other suckers out there I have bought in to the commoditization of my own experiences, in this case, my own health. My health comes with fashion and accessories. Yoga requires me to play a part complete with a costume, lexicon, and a mothership like lululemon. It goes like this: if I wear the pants, I will look the part, if I look the part others will think of me in that way, that makes me feel good about myself without ever doing a workout = I am lame. Knowing is half the battle. What would kylie do? She'd buy the pants because they make her great ass even greater, she'd do the yoga, hold the butt firming poses for a hundred years, then, with almost mother-like kindness, she would pat me gently on my rear and say "those yoga pants are really cute."

There is also an element of behaviour modification involved, and that is in committing the money to yoga pants I feel somewhat shamed in to doing the exercise. I have to earn the pants. But earn them retroactively since I've already purchased them. Like a soul repurchase plan.

Meatball action: anti-bum
Thursday last I went out with my friend E to the local ikea to stock up on candles, in bulk. We went right after work so treated ourselves to a little meatball-on-meatball action smothered in lingenberry sauce and gravy. There was other food on the plate, but I don't remember what it was. After circling the top floor we stopped back in the cafeteria to get dessert. It was in the candle section when I felt my meal drop. We then went grocery shopping and spent extra time in the aisle where metamucil is sold.