My First Yoga Class

Not only am I man enough to go to a yoga class, but I am even man enough to admit it publicly.

For those of you who are now questioning my machismo, I will say only that if it's good enough for Michael Jordan, it's good enough for me.

I went to a swanky new place called Yogaphoria ("The Inner Health Club") which, you might notice on the website, comes with the recommendation of one Cindy Crawford. So there!

I had a great teacher in my beginning Ashtanga class. Her name is Shari and she knows when to gently push you into the proper position, just when to say nothing and let you sort it out for yourself, and just when to discreetly give you a block to sit on because your hips are so goddamned tight that you can't properly sit Indian style without falling over backwards.

A couple of tips for anyone considering going to their first yoga class:

• you'll spend a lot of time doubled over--a loose shirt will be up around your neck making you feel stupid the whole time
• plan on being barefoot, which means get that unsighlty athlete's foot taken care of before you go
• it's BYO sticky mat
• don't place said sticky mat too close to the woman next to you (it will be a woman) because you might then brush against each other from time to time, and she might think you're some kind of pervert