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But then there’s power yoga. That class is an entirely different beast. You’re usually sweating through your mat, wobbling in warrior three, and wondering how on earth a plank could last four full minutes.
Instructors will tell you it’s “about the strength practice,” but it feels suspiciously like a bootcamp with more chanting. And the worst part is the unspoken rule that taking a break feels pretty much illegal. You’re paying to be there, your arms are quivering like overcooked spaghetti, and you’re one downward dog away from passing out, but sit down for a second and the teacher will call you out in front of everyone.
Yoga can be serene, sure, but sometimes it’s just public humiliation disguised as mindfulness.
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