Ohm Shit.

In celebration of Earth Day, the subterranean yoga gym decided to hold a free Vinyasa class today. Seeing as I hadn’t been to yoga in a few months now, I’d been looking forward to this class all week.

I walked into the studio and the pink ring of lights was on, so I was immediately transported into the alternate universe this particular gym likes to promote. I took my place on a rose-colored mat two inches on either side from my yogi neighbors, and waited for class to start. And then in walked the teacher. It was Marco. Remember him from my post this summer? He was the yogi who nearly killed me. The man with an unrecognizable accent, and legion of cabana boy-esque minions.

My first thought upon seeing Marco was “Oh shit.” My second thought was “Oh shit, I wish I hadn’t eaten salsa and chips right before class.”

The class turned out to be not so bad. Except the part where his yogiboy decided to take hold of my strap and pull, pull, pull my leg up. He didn’t so much as flinch, let alone release his grip when I said “Umm… That doesn’t feel right… That’s too much. Oww.” Marco had trained him well. And Marco himself, well, he inflicted his torture tactics upon a few unfortunate souls, while shouting at us all repeatedly (unrelentingly!), “FEEL THE FEELING,” which newsflash, Marco, is not helpful when the feeling is pain.

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