Hot Yoga and Frotch: A Tale of Survival

photo credit: chrisphoto via photopin cc

photo credit: chrisphoto via photopin cc

There are many things I enjoy doing with Stabler. Organized exercise is not one of them. Years ago, when we were baby-free and apparently common sense-free, Stabler said he wanted to try hot yoga. After I cleaned up the Diet Coke I had spit everywhere, I let him plead his case a bit more. He told me of all the supposed benefits of hot yoga and how he realllllly wanted me to go with him. The thing he didn’t realize was that I had already “tried” hot yoga. And by tried I mean I paid $20 to sit in a humid inferno of a room that was a fucking bazillion degrees and crowded with women with perfect little hot yoga bodies while I sat in the fetal position trying to just breathe. So needless to say, I was not very enthusiastic to “try” hot yoga again. Continue reading