Yoga is No Substitute for Fried Foods and Chocolate

So on Sunday I ate some hardcore shit on my bike, flipped over the handle bars and landed in a bush. Thus I incurred the world's biggest bruise:


(Yes, I know the picture is not that enjoyable to look at, but it's necessary if you're to feel the pity that I'm entitled to right now).

Then, on Monday, I put my game face and my Chargers' jersey on for Turkey Bowl 2009. I took a few people down, but my team lost and my body still hasn't recovered. Every muscle in my body is sore, including my brain and whatever part of my body is in charge of me being nice.

This morning, Day 3 of extreme pain and bitchiness, I decided I might find peace of mind and body at Yoga, which I normally hate.

Which I still hate.

All during class I'm wishing this bitch (the instructor) would shut the hell up and tell me to rest my forehead on my fist instead of confusing me by saying something about letting my mind's eye rest and all tension flow out of the body.

That stuff that's flowing out of my body? That ain't tension. That's the gassy remnants of last night's tri-tip blowing into the face of the old guy behind me. And furthermore, how do they expect me not to laugh when someone lets one rip in the middle of downward dog?

I'll never reach that level of maturity, and I'm begging you to shoot me if I do. And, I'm no less sore or bitchy now than I was this morning, pre-Yoga.

I guess maybe I'll understand Yoga in a few more years, but by then I hope I've let myself go enough to the point where I don't even want to go into public, let alone exercise. When I'm too old to play football and crash on my bike, then I'm too old to care about my looks and/or fitness. Hello, unlimited supplies of chocolate and chimichangas.

And, now, finally, I feel at peace. I didn't need Yoga, I just needed something to look forward to.