Confessions of a Kickboxing Yogi


My name is Amanda, and I like to punch things. A lot.

It’s been…. two hours since my last cardio boxing class, and I relished in every pugilistic moment of it.

*           *           *

It’s possible you’ve caught on from previous posts that I’ve become quite the budding little yogini. That said, I’m still wrestling with some decidedly un-yogic desires, habits and tendencies.

Things I Do That Are Straight Up Non-Yogic:

1) As we’ve established, I get a sense of sheer, euphoric, butterflies-and-rainbows  joy out of attacking inanimate objects and/or empty space. However, while I’ve never physically assaulted another human being, I’d like to believe that I would *not* enjoy that, and therefore this puts me somewhere in the realm of “non-yogic but also not sadistic.” I’m good with that.

Sunglasses in Wild Thing = Totally Yogic

2) Steak. Plain and simple, people. I don’t do it often, but when a filet mignon presents itself to me in all its tender glory, you better believe I’m going to savor every bite with amounts of HP sauce that should be illegal. (This is followed by a period of strong guilt brought on by the voice of my formerly vegetarian self. Just not strong enough to keep me from doing it again).

3) Not only do I indulge my ego from time to time, I have full fledged conversations with it. Sometimes over a glass of wine. (I like to think of it as keeping my friends close and my enemies even closer)

4) During savasana, I’m easily bothered by other people’s weird breathing, loud swallowing or complete inability to LIE STILL. It’s called corpse pose for a reason, people. When was the last time you saw a dead person check their cell phone?

5) Two words: Road. Rage. I’m working on it, I really am. But I swear it’s more of a reflex, really. Someone does something stupid that puts my life in danger = swear words that would make your mother blush flying right out of my otherwise angelic little mouth. No control. None. Working on it.

6) I like my yoga pants. I mean, *really* like them. It’s not that I judge my fellow yogis, but I do feel a deep sense of loss for the ones still wearing cotton t-shirts. Or Prana. I just want comfortable, stretchy, sweat-wicking pants for the whole world, really. That’s all.

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It’s been 10 months today since my first yoga class, and I thought that was cause for a little celebration… even if it is celebrating my cavernous room for growth.

Definitively Not Yogic (courtesy of


3 thoughts on “Confessions of a Kickboxing Yogi

  1. Filet mignon; unable to ever pass up, yum! Road rage, definitely a reflex; response to road rage, definitely a choice; words to make your mother blush, best choice & beats quite a number of other choices, plus it feels SO good.

    As for pugilistic tendencies, I much prefer throwing things, anything that crashes on impact and makes LOTS of noise. But never involving sentient beings…

  2. Excellent! Points regarding your points:

    1. You HAVE assaulted another human being…on multiple occasions. Did I ever complain (once I recovered)?
    2. Steak. We knew you were weak.
    5. Road rage: you came by it honestly. Sorry. Words that would make your mother blush? Really? Who do you think TAUGHT you those words? 🙂

    LOVE the cartoon!

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