Yoga Fucked My Shit Up

Damn.

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I started doing yoga about six months ago.

I remember my first class. Well, not my first class ever, but the first one where I fell in love.

When I go to the gym, I would normally just do some kettlebell exercises, or the Crossfit WOD if I was feeling adventurous. But on this particular day I felt too lazy to do either of those things.

In situations like these sometimes I just fall into an aerobics class. It’s much harder to be lazy in a room full of people.

That said, I went into the yoga studio, fully expecting to have an easy workout. I definitely didn’t think I would break a sweat.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, I walked out of there drenched in sweat. My shirt was literally soaked and sticking to my body.

It was definitely a good workout, but the best part about it was how great I felt afterwards. Imagine the endorphin rush you experience after lifting weights and multiply it by 100. That’s what this felt like.

The good feeling you get from yoga is hard to explain. You just feel so.. relieved.

Like, the pressure of life is completely gone. Every time you walk out of that class, you just feel like a million bucks.

And that’s the problem. But we’ll get to that later.

After that experience I was hooked. I started going 5–6 times a week, always taking the 10:15 AM class.

Since I was driving for Uber at the time, I was able to arrange my schedule around these classes.

In fact, BECAUSE I drove for Uber probably pushed me into more classes than I normally would have taken otherwise. Three-ish hours in the car first thing in the morning will definitely tighten up your lower body, and the massive amount of stretching and deep breathing we did in yoga helped to loosen it up.

Speaking of which, driving for Uber is not a glorious profession by any means. And it’s not like I’m some Pakistani immigrant to America that dropped out of school in 3rd grade. I’m a white Jewish kid from West LA that is good looking and reasonably intelligent. I was in the fucking army for God’s sake.

I always felt that I should not be driving for Uber.

The reason I bring this up is because by the end of my morning shift, I would hate myself.

My frequent trips to the airport made me nostalgic for the days where I would fly different places. I actually don’t know how many flights I’ve been on, probably close to 100. But here I was, driving people to the airport just so I could drag out the nightmare that has been my year in LA.

If I was driving them to their job, then it was somewhat of a wash. At first, I would get a bit jealous that they had a job that probably paid better than mine. But then I would remember that they’d have to stay there for 8–10 hours a day whereas I could fuck off in the afternoon and play video games.

Still, that was a small consolation, especially considering the fact that I’m in my 30s and still living like a college student (minus the college).

Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that by the time I actually got to the gym, I was not in the best of moods.

But through some act of divine intervention, I had the foresight to join the most luxurious gym in Los Angeles: The West LA Equinox.

First of all, you walk into this place and it looks like a fucking hotel. High ceilings, stone floors, a spa and even a hair salon are on the first floor even before you get to the part of the gym where people actually exercise.

It also has a huge lobby with a restaurant, free wifi and a huge seating area with couches, chairs, coffee tables. The works.

I know so many people there, it’s like my second home. After going 5–6 times a week and being friendly, when I walk in there I’m pretty much guaranteed to say hi to ten people before I even start working out.

It’s nice. And no matter how much of a bad mood I was in after driving, entering that gym and saying hi to those smiling faces always made it better.

A brief workout with kettlebells or weights would have made my day better as well, but doing yoga blew it out of the water. No comparison.

Now, I don’t know about any males that might be reading this, but when I work out I have a few environmental preferences:

1. Good equipment
2. Other people working out around me
3. At least one beautiful woman

#3 is especially important. In fact, I can do without the other two as long as there are attractive women around me. It’s probably some kind of biological thing, but if there’s a hot girl nearby then I’m pretty much guaranteed to have a good workout.

So imagine my delight when I realized that yoga classes are FULL of women. Some more attractive than others, but there are definitely some lookers in there.

Compare that with the gym floor, and it’s no contest.

Sure, you have maybe one or two hot girls that wander around, doing curls with 2 lb weights. But most of the girls are doing cardio, aerobics classes or stretching on the mats.

And don’t even get me started on the instructors…

Each one of them is special in their own way. When I started doing the classes, Rachel would teach on Monday. I knew her from the gym floor, and you could say we were friendly.

She was mixed, and according to her she was black, Jewish and Italian. Amazing body and very friendly. Another one of the trainers saw us flirting one day and warned me that she had a son. I told him it wasn’t a big deal, that I wasn’t looking for a relationship anyway.

We texted a few times but she got mad that I tried to Netflix and chill her. We didn’t talk much after that, but she warmed up to me when I started taking her class.

Tuesday was Skip. A very gay black guy that looks very good for being in his early 50s. He plays hip hop during class and is a bit more energetic. Great personality, and I would always walk out of there completely soaked.

Wednesday was Maeve.

Now… I don’t want to get too creepy here, but oh my god Maeve is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life. And I’ve seen a lot.

I’m even tempted to post a picture of her here, but someday she might actually read this (haha yeah right) and will probably think I’m a total creeper.

This woman looks like she was literally carved out of marble. Rock solid muscles, but not bulky.

She’s the definition of “toned.” Perfect everything, I’m telling you. Lower body of pure perfection.

And those eyes.. huge bluish green eyes that make your heart beat a little faster. She looks like some kind of wild animal. Or some mythical woodland creature.

Now, that wouldn’t matter if she was dumb as a rock or had a terrible personality. But she’s such a sweetheart that it’s hard not to fall in love. And I’m not the only one.

Her classes were by far the most crowded. Everyone pretty much considered her the best teacher, and not just because she’s hot with a gentle personality. Her classes really were the fucking bomb.

Another guy in one of my classes described it perfectly:

“I always get a good workout in all of the classes, but when I walk out of Maeve’s, I just feel so much more opened up.”

When he said the last part, he drew his hand across his chest as if opening a curtain. I knew exactly what he meant.

It’s no mystery why Maeve teaches the same time slot three days a week. The vinyasa classes are where the yoga veterans go, the ones who want a good workout and some serious stretching.

Since it’s a 10:15 class, it’s pretty much people who either work at the gym or don’t have a normal job. Maybe that’s why all these cougars are so nice to me.

Before I even started going to these yoga classes, I would sometimes see Maeve walking around the gym. We never talked, but she would smile and give me this look every time she walked by so I knew it was on.

She has a boyfriend and is probably 15 years older than me, but that didn’t stop us from shamelessly flirting at every opportunity.

But that’s not the point of this story. Sorry, I get sidetracked when this subject comes up.

Thursday was the Colombian, Andres. His classes were a bit more spiritual.

What struck me about his class is that at the end when we were in shavasana — where you just lie on your back with your eyes closed — he would pull out this weird accordion looking instrument and sing to us.

I almost cracked up the first time it happened, but quickly composed myself. That’s just the vibe there.

Speaking of which, in yoga they are always telling you things like:

“Think of one thing that you can be grateful for.”

“Think about how amazing it is that you have this body, and that you can do things like stand on your own two feet.”

“Know that you are perfect just the way you are.”

And on and on like that. Every class has that theme, even the ones that focus heavily on anatomy.

Over the course of a few months, I gradually started to let myself go. Yoga was like a drug to me. I had all but stopped lifting weights almost entirely since that first class.

My life consisted of driving for Uber, doing yoga and playing video games. I was barely making enough money to cover my rent and gym membership, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was doing yoga.

In retrospect, I probably loved it so much because it would counteract any aches and pains I’d get from sitting in the same position in my car for 5–6 hours a day. The deep breathing and stretching undid all the tension that I’d get from driving.

Sounds great, right? Not so fast.

Unfortunately, I also stopped caring about other aspects of my life. I was so broke that I couldn’t afford to eat anything other than eggs and bread. I ate egg salad sandwiches for every meal for the better part of two months.

And I didn’t care.

The funniest part about all of this is that I stopped showering. Not out of wanting to save water, or some spiritual reason, but just because I was so fucking… satisfied? No… what’s the word.

Complacent? No..

Hard to describe it, but after exhausting myself from driving followed by an even more exhausting yoga session, I didn’t feel any need to shower. I would just go home, make myself an egg salad sandwich or two, and play video games until it was time to start driving again at 3 PM.

You’d think that I’d start to smell like a dirty Indian person after a few days, but I didn’t. I wouldn’t even change my clothes most of the time, maybe once every three days. I would rarely do laundry either.

Nobody ever said anything.

I’d wear the same pair of shorts all week, occasionally changing my underwear and shirt if they got too funky.

I’d wear the same white Abercrombie sweatshirt, which would progressively get visibly dirtier until I chose to do some laundry.

I won’t say that these were the happiest days of my life, not by any means. Ever since my meltdown the other day, I realize that the combination of my social circle at the gym and these yoga classes were the only thing keeping my head above water.

I’m knew it at the time also. While I would drive, I would fantasize about leaving LA. I played different scenarios in my head. In one of them, I would travel to Australia and sell hair straighteners again. I’d live in a hostel and fuck slutty European girls, make money, and travel.

In another one I would take out student loans and go back to school, this time at Tel Aviv University. I’d study Psychology, spend ample time at the beach and — once again — fuck slutty Israeli girls.

I’m a simple man.

Yet the months passed, one yoga class after another. Every day the same cycle would repeat: Wake up, drive for Uber, release the tension with yoga, come home refreshed, drive some more, come home and play video games and go to sleep.

Rinse and repeat.

Six months of my life.

You’re probably thinking, “So why is this yoga stuff bad? It sounds like it helped you get through a tough time.”

During these months of introspection, I spent a lot of time thinking about how I could live my life in a way that I would find enjoyable.

All of these fantasies about leaving LA placated me for the time being, but when I started to research them in earnest, I would think to myself, “But then that means I’d lose my gym and wouldn’t be able to go to my yoga classes anymore.”

It was a terrible tug of war, the definition of a thought loop.

All of my fantasies centered around leaving LA. A story for another time perhaps, but suffice to say that I haven’t done shit to move the ball forward since being here, and it’s easier for me to blame this city and leave instead of looking within.

Then again, Israelis say, “Change the place, change your luck.”

Point being, yoga was the shining light in my life. The people in the classes were so nice to me. The yoga teachers were so supportive and friendly. I felt so amazing afterwards.

And like I said before, it was undoing the mental and physical damage that being an Uber driver was causing. No more anger, no more resentment, no more tight hips.

The bad part about this is that because I had this release, I never felt the need to pull the trigger on any of the drastic life changes I wanted to make.

I mean, I would periodically feel the need, but after an hour and fifteen minute yoga session the only thing that would be on my mind is how lucky I was that I had a body and was alive.

I guess you could say that doing yoga lowers your standards for achievement, in a way.

I used to hate that kind of touchy feely bullshit. This is exactly the kind of thing that you hear about them doing in schools and making the kids soft.

This is the type of attitude that causes people to not let their kids play dodgeball. This “safe space” bullshit where everyone gets a trophy. I hate that shit.

Yet I can’t help loving it when it’s happening to me.

It’s so nice to hear that I’m good just the way I am, even when I know my shit is fucked. And it doesn’t hurt that I get to spend almost 4 hours a week with one of the hottest women I’ve ever seen.

But like I said before, ever since I had my meltdown I’ve been conflicted. I got into that car accident, my Uber account is suspended and now I couldn’t drive even if I wanted to.

So take away the pain, and you take away the need for pain relief. I just don’t feel as strong a desire to go to class as I used to.

In addition to that, I’ve come to realize that I should probably take responsibility for my parents at some point in the near future. It’s not likely that I’m going to make enough to help them financially if I go sell hair straighteners in Australia or go back to school in Israel.

And that’s what scares me.

I don’t want to stay in LA, but I don’t even know why. I get scared when I think about it.

Even if I know I won’t be driving for Uber forever, it still scares me to imagine myself living here for the foreseeable future.

Time passes so quickly here. I can’t believe it’s already been a year and a half since I’ve been here and I haven’t done anything except discover yoga.

And fuck a lot of Tinder skanks.

Anyway, I know that I can grit my teeth and force myself to stay here. I can even get a good job selling real estate with my friend from the gym where I’ll make $100k a year. He said it’s not uncommon for people to make a million dollars, even more.

You know what’s weird? That also scares me.

Not the money, that would be great. But the path required to get there.

Too much time will pass and eventually I’ll be too old to go to Australia or go back to school.

I’ll be stuck selling real estate, addicted to the money, supporting my parents and unable to escape because they will rely on me financially.

God forbid I get married and have kids. Then I’m really fucked.

I don’t I’ve ever verbalized those thoughts before. That may actually be the first time.

Reading it feels weird. Like, I don’t know if it’s true or not. But the problem with life is that you don’t get a do-over if you fuck up.

Anyway.. I don’t know. I’m gonna go eat some egg salad.