So I tried, I really tried, the admonishment by Yoda to do or do not echoing in the recesses of my aging cortex. In this instance, I did not. I did not attend a Hot Yoga class at Open Door Yoga (here). I also did not pay for 12 classes to get me through the end of March, at which point I figured I'd have sufficient evidence to decide about continuing without breaking the bank and also without bouncing off and stopping too early for some fabricated dumbass reason.
Little did I know I'd bounce off a locked door.
The class started at 7:30, and I arrived shortly before 7, figuring I'd have time to enlist, pay the bill, and brace myself for what was to come. Mostly all I did was swear at the parking situation.
You might be wondering why I bothered. Well, I've been realizing for quite some time now that I needed to fold in some manner of social activity in my life. Yes, you heard me right. A social activity. I also wanted the activity to include physical conditioning to compliment the running. My reasoning was that (1) it wouldn't hurt me to speak to someone new now and again, and doing so in a highly structured and controlled environment would likely be less than painful, and (2) some activity besides running would help me lose a little more weight, like about 25 pounds, and that would make the running less punishing on my ever-aging feet, for which I'm not sure I can buy shoes fast enough.
I had two targets in mind. One was Hot Yoga. I liked the idea of a calm 90 minute routine in 105F. Heat makes me happy. I also though the yoga would facilitate loosening my old joints. It'd also do my head some good. That I might actually meet someone or sometwo and speak to them now and again would be the developmental opportunity. Bear in mind that I'm not looking for dating material, at least not just yet.
My second target was Krav Maga (here), an Israeli martial art if you didn't know. This one was second on my list for several reasons. First, martial arts are rough play, and it's easy to be injured, especially when you're an old fart like me. Second, I'm not all that thrilled by the thought of enduring a master trainer's ego. Third, I already have a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, and I'm without doubt I can go ballistic on some neer-do-well's ass already. It just wouldn't be pretty. It wouldn't be textbooky. It would, however, be effective. Nonetheless, it would be fun to mix it up in such a class, and there's just such a class downtown.
So what's a poor boy to do in the face of abject failure? Well, first he comes home and writes about it. Although that's a little bit fun, it really doesn't deal with the underlying issue. Does he make a return trip to the yoga studio on another day at another time hoping that maybe someone will be there to take his money? Does he try the other studio that's over near one of his favored restaurants? Does he wait until it's warmer so he can ride his bike and not have to swear at the parking? Or does he sail into the Krav Maga studio?
Who the fuck knows? Maybe I'll just run the updates for the Tom-Tom and call it quits for the evening.