it's my blog, and i'll whine if i want to.
i re-started my exercise regime in the last month or so. i stopped last fall or so, relying entirely on sex instead, because somehow it seemed like that should just do the trick. i mean, come on. it should, right? but no, no. my owner seems hellbent on making my thighs rock solid, despite my obvious genetic heritage towards sponge-like consistency instead. he started with nightly crunches and crap, and now i've returned to the gym to my thrice-weekly cardio workout.
which i don't mind. i kind of like it. it's a guaranteed time, three times a week, where i can insert ear plugs to music playlists i've designed entirely for myself and zone out. (for the record, i listen to bluegrass and disney music. don't ask.)
but, now the yoga.
in case it's not obvious, i am not a flexible person. i try, dammit, i try, but i'm not. and today, my regular yoga instructor ("....feel the spirit of love entering your skin as you slowly extend your arms outward to embrace it...") was on vacation. so instead it was sara the poweryoganightmare teacher.
i am not strong. i am weak.
but i'm also obedient. so i grumble, i halfheartedly protest, i beg for treats like a good bitch. and i attend my yoga class. onward, ho. (ha!) and no, it's obviously not me in the picture. stupid pretzeling-able wench.
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