Yoga is not for Sissies

Last December, my sister, gave me Gary Bromley’s Yoga Class in a box. Complete with book, DVD and Yoga mat, check another item off the bucket list.

Two months later during my annual physical, my doctor said, “You shrank 1/2-inch. You might want to try Yoga.”

I watched the video. Yoga is not for sissies.

“Relax back into Peaceful pose extending out one leg at a time.”

Richard sat in the swivel rocker watching me work through the video. He decided to join me.

“Now let’s do Eagle folding its wings.”

Pop, pop, pop.

With each new pose, Richard’s hip moved closer to the anatomically correct position.

“From Downward Dog, move your right leg forward between your arms.”

When we finished, Richard walked out of the room. No limp.

Yoga, week three. Towering over me, Richard recovered more than an inch of height. I remained the same.

“…taking the counter posture, holding Palm Tree.”

Richard’s knuckle grazed the ceiling for the first time ever. His shoulder flexibility return. I could touch my toes.

“Relax back into Child pose.”

Richard’s yoga mat arrived along with our carrying cases. Have Yoga mats, will travel.

The next day we visited an orthopedic surgeon at the local hospital. Within half-an-hour we discovered Richard needed hip replacement surgery not arthritis medications. A half-inch difference existed between the two hips joints.

April arrived and we counted down to our cross country trip. I needed new bras and called the Bra Lady.

“Hi, it’s Fannie and I need some bras.”

“Fannie, I am out of your size right now, let me order them and I will call you when they come in. What colors do you want?”

“Colors, just beige.”

“What, you need to live a little, they also come in Cocoa Latte, Black and Red.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for color.”

“Yes, you are. Every woman, no matter who they are needs a little excitement in their lingerie. You will just feel better. Now what colors do you want?”

“I’m leaving on a trip, in two weeks, how about just black?”

“Com’mon”

“Alright, one of each color.”

The day before we left, ring, ring, it’s the Bra Lady.

She said, “Fannie, your new bras arrived and you can’t leave town without them.  Where can I meet you? I’m not at my shop.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m driving back from an errand,” she said. “I’ll be cutting down Peacock Hill on the way back into town.”

“That’s perfect. I have to drop my cats off at the kennel, where do you want to meet?

“How about the parking lot of Merle Norman, say in ten minutes?” she said.

“I’m on my way.”

A white car waited in the parking lot. I drove up next to her and rolled down my window.

“This is so clandestine, I even put them in an unmarked brown paper bag.  Where else are you going to get service like this?” she asked handing me the bag through the window.

We both laughed.

If the police saw our little transaction, imagine the fun of showing them bras.

3 a.m., the alarm blares.

“Mom, I just want five more minutes. I promise I will get right up…zzzzzz”.

3:10 a.m. the second alarm sounds.

“All right already, we’re getting up.”

Richard leaps out of bed with the enthusiasm of a morning person. My zombie avatar motors around the house pretending humanity.

4:30 a.m., the sun still asleep in bed, we burn pavement. The longest vacation of our marriage.

Two days later we arrived in South Dakota.

We spent the night in Sturgis. Staying on the first floor of our hotel, we practiced Yoga without waking the neighbors.  Some moves just require a little more vigor.

When we checked out the next morning the young man behind the counter commented on our Yoga mats.

He looked at Richard then said, “You can do Yoga? I tried Yoga once and it nearly killed me.”

Richard said, “You’re doing it all wrong.  Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

Richard said, “Here’s what you do. Dress your girlfriend up in spandex, get out the Yoga DVD, put her mat in front of yours. Better yet, have her invite some of her girlfriends. Its important they wear spandex as well. Stand in back. Ten minutes in, you won’t feel a thing, trust me.”

He leaned over and whispered into my ear, “Or you can just wear really great underwear, that did it for me.”

Just before Richard’s hip surgery, my doctor measured me again. I regained the missing 1/2-inch.

If the young male population in Sturgis starts dying from Yoga, we didn’t do it. If the population surges outside of Rally week, they’re on their own.

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About Fannie Cranium

Writing since she could first hold a pen, Tracy Perkins formed her alter ego, "Fannie Cranium" at the suggestion of her husband. Tracy understands smiling makes people wonder what she’s been up to.
This entry was posted in Humor and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Yoga is not for Sissies

  1. lexy3587 says:

    🙂
    great post!

    Like

  2. Pingback: Yoga is Not For Sissies, Redux II | Fannie Cranium's

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