Sometimes Yoga is Better than Sex


I know what you’re thinking.

You’re thinking that I’m crazy. Especially if you’re one of the millions of women who’ve just read  50 Shades of Grey, and are imagining all the kinds of excitement that can happen between the sheets (or on the floor, table, shower…)

I tell you, I’m serious. I’m completely and totally serious.

I had an epiphany today, while laying in Savasana at the end of my Moksha Yoga class.  I’ve written about yoga before, first when I started, and then when I had a wakeup call after getting cocky about my practice.  Yoga is hard for me, with my busy brains and all, but I persevere.  Even through multiple injuries that have sidetracked me, and set me back for months. Even with my fear of anything to do with being upside down, on my head, or straining my neck*.  I persevere through all that-the busy mind, the reluctant body, the fight from my psyche.

Today I was reminded why I keep going to hot yoga.  I lay there, flat on my back, my mind clear, the corners of my mouth turning up, limbs completely heavy and totally relaxed. I was blissfully euphoric.  And then it hit me.  It was just like…you know…after good sex.

So then, why do I say yoga’s better?  Isn’t it the same?

Nope. Here’s why.

In yoga, I’m concerned only with myself. I’m in my own little bubble.  Sure, I’m supposed to send energy out to the other people in the room, but really, my practice is all about my body, what I’m doing, how I feel.  I’m supposed to be selfish.

During a class, if I don’t want to participate in a pose, I can just lay down and close my eyes, and nobody cares.  If I want to stop, I just stop.

When I’m practicing yoga, my body is perfect. I’m not worrying about how I look or where my blobby bits are landing.  I have strength, confidence and grace because I’m honouring how my body moves. When I’m practicing yoga, all of my parts just seem to be in the right place.

There are no expectations in yoga practice, except to be present. (and not to talk, which is really hard for me).

Some days I’m good at yoga, and some days I’m not.  And, that’s ok.  I feel really good afterwards, no matter how I perform.

It’s ok to get really sweaty and smelly during a hot yoga class. In fact, its de rigeur.  Your hair and clothing sticks to your head, the sweat drips off your body onto your mat.  You’re completely soaked, and its not yucky or sticky.  Its beautiful, and detoxifying, and just makes you feel amazing, and you don’t have to touch anyone while you are in that condition.

The tools and props are pretty benign looking.  You’d be amazed what you can do with a little block of cork.   Plus, you don’t need to need to buy these accessories at a Passion Party or have them delivered in plain brown paper wrapping.  They’re all there at the side of the room. And, they don’t need batteries.

I always know what to expect in a Moksha class, and it doesn’t get old or routine.  The poses generally don’t change, and if they do, the instructor walks you through the new positions so that you do them properly.  When your positioning is wrong, or you can’t do something, you’re gently corrected, with verbal cues, and if you don’t get it right, there’s always the next time.  No harm, no foul.

So, that’s it. That’s why I think sometimes yoga can be better than sex.  Sometimes.


Do you practice yoga?  Do you do anything that makes you feel so good?

*when I was eight years old, my gym teacher, who was from the Israeli army, forced me into a backwards somersault.  I strained my neck that day, and my body still resists any type of movement like that, which precludes shoulder stand, plow pose, and even headstands.