A friend invited me to an 8:30am yoga class.
Cruel, right? Like are we really even friends, Becky? Is there coffee or bacon at “yoga”? What are you doing to me?
My plan was to immediately accept before thinking through the logistics. That way I was committed. Also, the timing worked perfect after dropping the maniacs kids off at school, so why not?
So I dust off my heretofore lounge pants a.k.a. yoga pants and tell them this is their moment. Right here, right now their destiny will be realized. .. and then I prayed the seams would hold.
I show up and immediately announce my noobness in using the YMCA facility mat. The stranger-sweat-on rubber washcloth that is supposed to protect my rhinoceros knees from the hardwood floors of the workout room. I doubled up.
So there I am, ready to meditate through my sweat and the instructor shows up. Now I’m not saying you should judge a book by it’s cover, but let’s just say I was surprised that our yoga instructor looked like a carbon copy of me fresh after the doughnut line. I was certain I could do this…. full disclosure: I have taken a few yoga classes here and there sprinkled through the last ten years of my life.
So we get started. First pose: Child’s pose. I thought this was hand on hip, scowl on face, and whining about how hungry I am for anything but what’s provided.
Wrong. Reality: Face down on stranger sweat mat, knees crushing into the floor and spread apart.
“Don’t fart don’t fart!”
“Now breathe”
One pose led to another and before long I was breaking a sweat. From holding poses!
The one she lost me on, however, was the downward dog. It’s not that I can’t do it, but my wrists were not having it. From DD we went down to a plank and then to “Baby cobra” pose.
I was imagining pirates and snake-filled islands as my brain was screaming, “What the fuck are you doing?!”
Eventually I had to just give up on the constant pressure on my wrists and stand there like the shamed noob that I am. I was ok with that. This was the well-practiced “Awkward Wait It Out” pose I have excelled at lo these many years.
We finally get through all the warrior poses and archery poses and reach for the sky poses and we get to sit down again. THIS I can handle. Me and my doubled up funk mats were more than prepared for whatever came from these exercises.
Then every rude, judgemental, mean thought I have ever had for a fellow Lane Giant shopper smacked me in my sweaty flushed face. As we sit, the instructor – with grace and control, mind you – demonstrates the incredibly difficult double knee-into-chest grab, then extends her legs off the ground in front of her with her arms outstretched beside her legs.
There was no huffing or puffing. In fact she continued to call out the insanely complex Twister moves we are supposed to be hitting as she was transitioning her own body.
I assumed the Eat Crow position as I sat there barely executing 1/4 of the poses asked of the class in that moment.
As we were moving on to other leg twisting, spine stretching, floor laying poses I found myself going back to two thoughts. 1. Kick ass women come in all shapes and sizes. 2. I could sweat and stretch my ass off daily and I’ll still look like a lumberjack?! What’s the point?! (yes, i know. strength and health are the point, blah blah blah)
As we finished breathing and laying on the rock hard floor listening to the combination meditation/therapy session I realize I have a long way to go in mind and body.
Then I went to the grocery store and bought all the yummy things! … but made sure to pepper my snacking with an orange. See? Growth!
Namaste
Sarcasmica 