The power of one

Waiting for my fish and chips, sipping on a chocolate big M, I found myself browsing the local shop windows down the road on a Saturday arvo.

I came accross a news article posted on one of the shop windows. It was an article on a local pro surfer Julian Wilson describing his new training techniques for surfing on the world tour. He explained that different methods of 'power yoga' helped him to perform at his peak and generally surf better. There was much emphasis that 'power yoga' wasn't just yoga, but yoga with the word power in front of it. Basically it sounded like it wasn't for pansy's. I then realised the article was stuck to the window of a small 'power yoga' studio.

It was beginning to look like a pretty good excuse to try my hand at yoga. Sorry, 'power yoga'.

The studio was just down the road from my house, Local pro surfer Julian Wilson did it and local pro surfer Julian Wilson wasn't a female. Lets face it, when we think yoga we think middle aged women in leotards - and because of that fact I still wasn't totally convinced to give it a go.

Then on a lazy Sunday arvo after a surf I found myself back down at the local shops. This time I noticed a bloke standing at the doorway of the power yoga studio chatting to a fellow 'yogarian'. I decided to wander over and inquire about the classes.

I got chatting with the bloke and he dispelled many of the myths and stereo types about yoga. He insisted that many local surfers and sportsman alike come along to the classes and it's not just middle aged women in leotards. Ok - thats enough reccomendation for me, at least one class can't hurt - Wednesday morning 6am see you there pal.



Wednesday morning 6am:

Here I am super psyched with my towel and water bottle (the power yoga flyer I picked up reccomended you bring those saying 'you will sweat'.)
As I approached the studio the first thing I noticed was a middle aged woman in a leotard at the front desk - the instructor.

Where the frig is that dude I was talking to, and where the frig are all the other dudes.

I started to fear the worst.

The instructor looked me up and down a little and asked politely "So is this your first time?"
"Uh oh this is weird" I thought standing there in my footy shorts and bintang bali singlet as middle aged women passed me in there leotards and loose tracky pants with draw strings.

I was directed to grab my yoga mat and grab a place on the floor to limber up.
Yep the nightmare stereotype situation had come true. There I was stretching my hammy's in the middle of the class surrounded by middle aged women in weird positions.

When it said "you will sweat" on the flyer they weren't kidding. half-way through the session I was drenched, whilst I noticed the instructer at the front of the class didn't have a bead of sweat on her. She was a freak. I remember at one point seeing her with her legs straight and her head on the ground.

I must admit though it was a good feeling. It was like an extreme lingering pain for an hour. Mm that doesn't sound that good - but it's good when you stop. You feel really relaxed and can breath really slowly and easily.

I don't regret going to 'power yoga' but I haven't been back yet.
I will but I'd rather have a wing man - I'll ask some boys at footy training...
"hey knackers do you wanna do some yoga tommorow morning? Bring a towel, a water bottle and your leotard."

Good surf'n and bye for now...