too ethereal for me
in an effort to have someone else kick my butt into fitness gear, a couple of co-workers and i had taken a pilates class last quarter... specifically "pilates booty ballet". i figured it would be a good time; it's got the word booty in it after all. and it turned out to be an enjoyable, poppy, fun workout, so i decided to continue my foray into pilates-land. unfortunately, the same class wasn't offered, so i ventured (solo) into a pilates-yoga blend. ... like alice through the looking glass... the class is oozing in "namaste" and lingo, and instructions to flow thoughts and feel blood and all that kind of spiritual blabbity-blah that yoga is known for. i spend most of my time with my eyes rolled to the ceiling, and NOT in the head-back, open your heart and salute various heavenly objects way. i don't enjoy hearing other people move wind through their nose-hairs, and i definitely enjoy the lithe old men in their unnecessarily short shorts. by the end of the class, i'm so incredibly bothered, i'm sure any sense of good feeling has been boiled away by my rising blood pressure.
current mood: get your head out of the clouds, and make it down and dirty.