Fit For Surf. Easy Does It

I’m just like any of you readers out there. No, really, I am. I read the mags and admire the guys like David Rastovich. He does yoga, right? And it’s supposed to help your surfing? Well he seems cool and mysterious, likes saving dolphins and has a funky tattoo on his foot; yeah, maybe this yoga thing might be good for me, too? FSM published a story on Bikram’s yoga (volume 3 number 12) a couple years ago. I recently came upon the article and decided to give this yoga thing a try.
Like many people, when I try something for the first time, I go “all in.” I bought a $30, 30-day unlimited Bikram’s yoga pass in Kailua and proceeded to frequent the joint religiously. I went six days in my first week and as I had imagined, the place was swarming with hot chicks. And by hot chicks, I mean being sandwiched between two sweaty middle-aged men. Score!

My body was feeling better, though. I was stretching out my spine, among other various joints and muscles. I was getting my semiotic fluids circulating. My balance was improving. I was having…an OK time. That is, until one morning after showering off after an eye-popping, 90-minute hot yoga sesh of stretching and sweating, I felt something awry down by my rectum. Hmmm, weird, I thought. With my pants around my ankles and butt to the mirror, I bent forward to get my face between my legs to examine the situation upside-down. There was a small, fleshy bubble creeping out of my man-cave.

Quite perturbed, I immediately went to a walk-in clinic down the street. The doctor refused to examine me, ordering me to get some Preparation H and eat more fiber. He said it should clear up in a week. This relieved me momentarily, but the reality was 10 pairs of bloody boxershorts, excruciating pain while sitting and absolute torture wiping for the entire next week. Needless to say,  ’roids are no fun at all.

My condition climaxed at Straub Medical Center a week after it started. I guess I needed a second opinion. The next thing I know, I’m stark naked in a Greco-Roman wrestling (receiver) position on top of an examination table while a woman doctor with a big syringe and a nurse are staring down the barrel of my bum. The doctor complacently tells me the worst five words imaginable at that point, “This might hurt a little.”

Even though flesh heals, the psychological damage I endured while feeling the muted prodding of surgical instruments lancing, scraping, squeezing and violating my secret spot may be irreversible. It was an experience I can only dream to forget.

What can a young man learn from his first case of hemorrhoids? What can we all learn here? When trying something for the first time involving irregular physical strain or exertion, such as yoga—don’t overdo it. Start slow and when you feel the push or pull, don’t jump over that line. You don’t want to be that guy (or gal) who leaves a bloodstain on a white couch at your friend’s swanky photo gallery exhibition; that guy everyone’s teasing, saying, “You just had a man-period!” Don’t put yourself through that. It’s not worth it. —Beau Flemister