By Hally Marlino for YOGANONYMOUS
Dragging myself in to a nude new year, I’ve made Anthony Bourdain my yoga guru. Why? He’s a smart ass, pig-sacrificing, gentle heathen and those virtues appeal to my spiritual side.
Monsieur Bourdain is a fan of Emile Zola’s The Belly of Paris. I read it in December and can see the gourmand intrigue. It’s brutal and flowery; the working-class hero transforms from political prisoner to fish inspector of Les Halles, the grand market. One translation of the book is called Fat and Thin. Go figure.
Under the influence of this book, I’m wondering what it’d be like to take the day off and have Anthony Bourdain teach my yoga class. Judging by his sharpest soundbites, it would play out like so:
1. “I don’t have to agree with you to like you or respect you.”
Sounds like a mantra to live by, on and off the mat, especially in matters of faith, free-thinking and food.
2. “Your body is not a temple, it’s an amusement park. Enjoy the ride.”
Anthony Bourdain would advise you to come to his yoga class in your freakum dress from last night, fake eyelashes half stuck to your face, and still fuzzy-drunk. You’d oblige, because he’d make you some après-yoga greasy breakfast and a side of lardons to recover.
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