If you have boobs and have ever tried yoga, you are probably already laughing right now. If you don’t have boobs and have tried yoga, you probably are better at yoga than I am.
So I started the PiYo DVD’s on Monday and am loving them. I love the trainer, love the workouts, love everything about it. I already feel like it’s made a difference in the way I carry myself and I catch myself sitting up straight almost all the time, which is no small feat for someone who sits at a desk all day long. PiYo combines pilates and yoga in a way that forces you to use your own body weight as resistance. It’s more fast paced than yoga is as well, in PiYo you aren’t holding poses for as long but instead fluidly moving from pose to pose. (Well, that’s the idea. The people on the video move fluidly. I do a lot of clomping onto my hands and collapsing.) It’s a good fit for me because while I’ve always loved the idea of yoga, the reality of it stressed me out. All of the quietness and concentrating on your breathing; the more they tell me to relax, the more my mind starts racing. PiYo gives me the best of both worlds.
Except for one thing. I can’t figure out where my boobs are supposed to go. They are consistently in my way. I bought a new sports bra, but because I am lazy and cheap, I got an XL from Target for 12 bucks instead of investing a hundred dollars in the big-girl support I need. It does the job, but unless I want to begin a new career in adult films, I’m probably not going to be showing it off any time soon. Thus, this is how my workout inevitably ends up going.
Trainer: “Okay, so now we’re going to curl our toes and pull up into downward dog! Make sure your chin is away from your chest!”
Me: “That is physically impossible. I have, in fact, never been closer to my chest.”
Trainer: “So you should actually be looking at your belly button while in this position.”
Me: “Also not possible. The only way for me to see my belly button is in a mirror.”
Trainer: “Aaaaah! Doesn’t that feel good? What a great stretch!”
Me: “I am literally being suffocated by my own boobs.”
Trainer: “Now what you’re going to want to do, from a plank position, is pull your knee up to your chest, so your knee is at a 90 degree angle to the floor.”
Me: “*&^%$%^.” (You would think I would be at an advantage here, as my knee is apparently much closer to my chest than these teeny-tiny fit people. You would be wrong.)
And on and on we go. I do the best I can and despite my apparently giant knockers trying to kill me at every turn, I am noticing a difference already in my strength and flexibility. Just yesterday I started to lose my balance getting off of my bike, (whilst carrying a case of beer in my backpack, if you must know,) and before I’m pretty sure I would have hit the cement before I even realized what was happening. But as now I have a little bit of core strength, I was able to right myself and safely transport the libations to my apartment.
So there’s that.