Pretzl

In the quest of turning myself into a human pretzl (ahem), I joined a yoga workshop over the last weekend. Forking out the four hundred bucks, I was expecting a weekend of some serious stretching and then surrounded by hot sweaty ladies doing some seriously suggestive poses. (Oh, downward dog!) Two sessions a day, two and a half hours per a session, so that'd be ten hours of ogling and fantasizing and movies-in-my-head, no, I mean ten solid hours of yoga over the weekend. Boy I was so looking forward to it.

There was indeed an AMAZING weekend, just as I anticipated, and more...

My shoulders are so sore now that I can hardly lift my arm to wave goodbye or take the wheel. My tights and hamstrings are so painful now that I can hardly walk up a flight of stair, or simply just walk. My ass is in such constant spasm that I can hardly sit long at work. The worst part is my upper back, it's aching so bad, as if someone is following me behind my back 24/7, whacking and keep whacking on my upper back with a baseball bat, NONSTOP!

What a fantastic weekend it was.

But the day after?

Kill me. Kill me NOW!