The Yoga-Boob Conundrum

I love yoga. I’m not great at it, but that doesn't stop me from doing it as often as possible. Sometimes at a cool, gently scented studio, surrounded by lululemon zombies and other times when I’m drunk at a friend's apartment.

Sample scenario:

Friend: Hey there, buddy. You, uh. You bustin’ out a little tree pose there?

Tree- Erin: Yup.

Just call me TreeBeer'd. TREEBEER'D, geddit? Nevermind. Gah.

Sample scenario #2:

Me: Hey, you guys, I’m gonna teach y’all how to do shoulder stand! It’s like a headstand, but with your shoulders! Just—hey, will you just hold my skirt? Will you hold my skirt so it doesn't fall down? Hold my skirt. Cause I’m gonna put my legs over my head now and I don't want you to see my panties. Am I wearing panties? Lemme check. Okay, yes I am, but I still don't want everybody to see them. Are you holding it? Are you holding my skirt? Okay. 

Yeah...they saw my panties, didn't they?

               

Shoulder stand is actually one of my favorite poses, because you have to go through plow pose to get there, and if you have never had this happen before, getting mascara on your inner thigh is a thrill, let me tell you.

Yoga is great. It is great for relaxation, for strength, for fighting depression. One thing yoga is not good for? 

Boobs. 

Yeah. Titties. Jugs. Melons. Bazoombas. Yoga turns these guys into assassins, constantly trying to suffocate their host bodies with themselves. Gravity is their accomplice, particularly when you're doing an inversion (an upside-down pose). They basically try and race each other to the floor.

 Many a time, a yoga instructor has exhorted me to “let your head drop,” when I’m in Downward Facing Dog and I don’t say anything because I’m concentrating on breathing like Darth Vader, but I want to say “Look, honey, I want to release the tension from my neck, but if I do that, I’m going to be motorboating myself.” This is why actual dogs keep their breasts a safe distance from their breathing apparatus.

These bitches have it made.

The other big one is Child’s pose, meant to be a calming, comfortable pose you take when you just can’t make another Chaturanga happen and you need a minute to breathe. Except PSYCH! Not with big boobs. With these not-so-funbags attached to my chest, I’m not chilling out and reconnecting with my breath, I’m like “haaaughhrrglle…I can’t breathe!” Also, your face is covered in boob sweat. You’re welcome for that visual.

Hey, what do you call a pair of sweaty boobs?

Beeeeeewwwwwwwwbs!

...I'll show myself out.

In addition to being dicks about breathing, boobs have another drawback in yoga. A usual flow class involves many vinyasas, when you lower yourself to the floor and then slide forward with your chest opening to the ceiling. A delicious back bend for sinewy yoga types, for me it’s time for my twins to make a VALIANT ESCAPE ATTEMPT. They sense freedom is close and they LEAP. So I’m constantly having to shimmy them back into my traumatized sports bra, and look furtively around the room to make sure no one saw any nip. At this point, my yoga bra has just given up on life and boob restraint. I’ve had people suggest that I double up on the brassieres, but do I look like I am made of sports bras people?

I highly suggest you do a Google Image Search for "dogs doing yoga" it is worth your time.

So friends, if you are a member of the itty bitty titty committee, you should def give yoga a shot. You were born for it. And also for most of the mass-produced clothing in the world. And my curvier ladies...you should also come to a yoga class with me, but bring a tank of oxygen. In case of boob suffocation.

Authoress's note: I am only an amateur yogi, so please excuse any misspellings/capitalization errors. If you point one out, all it'll do is make you look like a pedant. 

And nobody is a pedant-phile.