Social Workout

Buns of Steal

Rasta Yoga

Rasta Yogi (Via Shivenis.)

The gym: YMCA
Location: Dupont Circle
Pass: One Free Week

Oddly enough, I had never actually been to the YMCA. So, when I figured out there was one exactly equidistant from my job and my apartment, I knew it was destiny. I printed out the free pass and headed over, set on taking a Pilates class of some sort. Well, suffice to say that while the actual YMCA building is pretty kick-ass, organization is not the facility's greatest strength. Contrary to the printed schedule, (and contrary to the completely different one offered online), there was no Pilates class that day. Instead, there was yoga. Rasta yoga.

Ok, so the yoga was technically called "Evening Yoga," but it couldn't have been more rastafarian if Bob Marley were teaching it. Our instructor's name was Ra (fitting). He had a big nose piercing and two nipple rings (and I know this because he was wearing a mesh shirt with a Jamaican flag on it). His dreads ran to his waist and were tucked up in a french braid looking thing.

The music? Yep, reggae, with some rap thrown in. Socially conscious rap. Like, "Lets get high dude, light it up..." (This was the lyric, no joke, and it was on repeat).

The dialogue: "Downward dog y'all." Interspersed with some banter about Miley Cirus concerts and making fun of the gay guy up front.

The yoga itself? Well, it was more like a stretching session. We literally lay on the ground for an hour, just stretching. I think we stood for only about 15 minutes of the whole class. But you know what, after the ridiculous few weeks I've had, just laying still for an hour felt like the most appropriate possible exercise.

Now, it only it could have burned off the pasta the firm fed us for lunch... sigh.

For the ongoing adventures of Buns of Steal, an impoverished but equally resourceful law student in New York City (with a stint in D.C. for the summer!), hoping to make it through 2010 without ever paying for a gym membership, visit "Buns of Steal."