The only guy in yoga class.

I do yoga. I'm not one of those self-righteous yoga types who wears only hemp clothing and has a Coexist bumper sticker on my Toyota Prius. But I do yoga, and hell, I enjoy it.

At times, the distinct lack of men in my yoga classes makes me feel like less of a man. But in all honesty, the Hemingway-esque model of masculinity needs some slight revision (I say slight), and I like the way yoga makes me feel. This is all despite the fact that I'm gawked and laughed at by brawnier dudes with diamond earrings and blowout haircuts at my gym.

When I leave class, I've exhausted almost every physical fiber of my being. My body is pulp, and it's a reassuring feeling. It makes me not give a shit about any worldly concerns, at least for a few hours. Aside from giving me a few hours a week during which I can be completely self-indulgent, it also encourages me to relax, helps me manage my stress and improves my posture. Half of the time, I leave my yoga classes feeling sorer than I would had I lifted for an hour.

One of the basic principals of strength training is that the more muscle groups a lift recruits, the more difficult and beneficial the lift is. Nearly every pose I've been put through in yoga engages some portion of your core muscles. A lot of the poses are especially challenging because they task both your muscles and your sense of balance -- forcing you to recruit minor muscle groups that you ordinarily use for stability, muscle groups ordinary lifting doesn't target.

For these reasons, I will always do yoga as long as I am physically able. And as a result, I'll always be in better shape than 90 percent of the guys with blowouts at my gym.