Marcus is a 42-year-old project manager in construction. He says, “My style is more colourful than most men’s.” He says his friends and family would describe him as “somewhat reserved, sarcastic, intelligent and reliable.”
Marcus likes to be outside, “doing active things” and also likes “reading a wide variety of things, watching movies, travelling somewhere with sun, and watching movies and documentaries on Netflix.”
Marcus doesn’t have a laundry list of qualities he’s looking for in a partner but “one of my big make-or-break issues is moral standards, namely honesty and integrity.”
I met Debbie online. I believe it was an image of her that I first responded to. She’s a hard-working, professional woman and very fit. Very impressive. We talked and got to know each other a bit and I asked her out.
I was looking for a new first-date idea for my date with Debbie, something that neither of us had done before. We had been discussing various options.
I thought, what is sure to guarantee a “hot” first date? Hot yoga! Had I ever done yoga before? Nope! Had Debbie ever done yoga before? Nope! Perfect! We were both interested in trying it, so it seemed like the right fit.
I organized the date and set everything up. My biggest concern going into the date was that during the class I’d be able to follow the instructor and not fall on my face and look like an idiot.
It turns out that when they say “hot yoga,” they do not mean warm. They do not mean toasty. They mean hot. Walking in, I started to realize that hot yoga wasn’t going to be exactly the kind of experience I had imagined.
Debbie seemed great, at least. Attractive, very fit, kind and game to experience whatever was in front of us.
There is no gender-neutral plural of “yogi” and “yogini” that I could find, so I decided to call us “yogurts.” Two newbie yogurts on a first date in a hot-yoga class results, at least from my perspective, is two adults at their worst.
Not only were we two beginners, with the joint and muscle pain that comes with adulthood, moving through contortions not seen since the days of drive-in-movie sex in a Volkswagen Rabbit, we were also on what turned out to be a very sweaty date. Not only that, but a very sweaty first date!
Debbie was beside me in the class. I thought about how it would have felt if she were in front of me or behind me, and those options seemed much more embarrassing.
Debbie seemed very into the class, though. I liked it, too, even as I struggled to perform the various poses. I didn’t do too badly, I don’t think.
After the class, there was a typical kind of post-yoga environment, with a hardcore crew of yogis standing around. At some point, one of us had mentioned that this was out first date, and in fact was the first time we had met, and they collectively seemed to think that was remarkable.
At this point, I had to agree. However, for some reason — even though it hadn’t turned out as badly as it could have — I could just tell there wouldn’t be a second date with Debbie.
Our conversation after the hot-yoga class was relatively short. We went out for a drink, even though we both probably wanted to get home and shower. There wasn’t any negative vibe but I wouldn’t say we especially hit it off. It was almost as though the idea of the date outshone the date itself.
There were no hugs and no kisses goodbye. We just kind of parted ways. Who wants to get that close to a hot, sweaty yogurt?
We communicated back and forth for a few weeks after that and it was friendly, but the hot-yoga date was our last date. It remains my one and only hot-yoga date, so far.
I still have hopes for hot yoga as a great date idea for the right potential partners, preferably yogurts who are very limber and with no sweat glands.
Culled from https://www.thestar.com/life/2016/08/20/dating-diaries-marcus-and-debbie.html