STOGA! STOGA! STOGA!... STONED YOGA!

MOM BLOGGER WRITES:
 
Every Monday night, I get together with my girlfriends – all moms with demanding careers  – and get stoned. Then we do yoga. That’s right, stoned yoga. Or stoga, as we call it.

It happened quite by accident, really. The initial premise was sunset yoga – outdoor yoga in a friend’s backyard – which sounded very earthy and cool despite the fact that I hate yoga (it’s the whole forced relaxation aspect that throws me off). And so I signed on.

The yoga itself was pretty good – I mastered downward dog and learned to breathe – but the best part was the post-yoga hang, replete with barbecue chips and red wine and hilarious banter about husbands, kids, life. Inevitably, we’d smoke a joint. More food. More laughter.

Pretty soon we were getting high pre-yoga (why wait?). And so began stoga: a weekly ritual of high achievers (and former stoners) sparking up a doobie just in time for shavasana. Four years in, I am addicted to Monday nights. It’s not about the yoga, or even the getting high, but more the therapeutic effects of taking time out from my busy life and hanging out with friends, old-school. And there’s nothing obligatory about it. Unlike three-times-a-week cardio or even, say, self-imposed ‘date nights,’ there’s zero guilt if I flake out on stoges (which I never do, excluding the lonely few months after kid number two was born).

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