Pee Yoga.

september 25th, 2013.

Vlad's roommate Barbara asked to borrow his yoga mat. “Don't worry, I'll be sure to disinfect it afterward,” she said. (Barbara is German)

“That's ok, you don't have to,” said Vlad. “It's not like you're going to pee on it.”

“Ha ha, except that what if she's not doing hot yoga, she's doing pee yoga!” I said.

“Yah, it's great. We just do yoga for an hour, and then at the end we hold hands and pee. It's very relaxing,” said Barbara.

You guys, this conversation happened maybe two weeks ago, and I'm still laughing about it. Pee Yoga is so close to real yoga. Bodies, humility, indignity. Every yoga class I've ever been in has been, by default, Fart Yoga.

You walk into class. There are no windows. In the corner is a discreet drain. You're nervous. It's your first time. The instructor greets you, asks if you have your mat and your towel. She glows with a beauty that's daily kale vibrant. She could be 30, could be 50, hard to say. This is one of the draws of hippies and hippie practice: everyone is hot. And you want to be a hot 50-year-old.

The instructor lights a candle and passes a huge communal jug of water. Everyone takes a healthy gulp. When the jug is empty the instructor smiles. “We begin,” she says. You do the yoga. It's pretty regular.

At five minutes to the hour, she says quietly, “it is time.” Everyone gathers in a circle and chants an ancient Sanskrit prayer. The instructor pees first, joyfully, horsefully, and everyone else relaxes and pees with her. You pee, too. You weren't sure if you would. You've heard that potty training is some of the most difficult conditioning to overcome, but you're doing it. You are proud of yourself.

“Pee Yoga, you've got to try it!” you tell your friend over chocolate malts, later. “It's amazing ... ” you trail off.

Original image from Public Domain Pictures, recommended for all your public domain picture needs.