Okay, so first, let me clarify. See, I’m already so traumatized and stressed by the whole gym slash yoga re-introduction after being away for months, that I can’t think straight. The yoga class I’m taking is Vinyasa, not Hatha. Would someone please chime in and tell me what the heck is the difference? (sigh)
Okay, where was I?
So, picture it: Wednesday. It was a beautiful day in Nueva York. It was actually crazy warm…so balmy, I was sweating in my jacket. Global Warming, Swarming…whatever…believe, don’t believe…all I know is, we are not having the distinct seasons we used to have and some of the weather occurrences are extreme, wouldn’t you agree? Anyhoo, the day was perfect. At the end of the work day, I was tired, but I was determined to re-visit this yoga thing — and achieve Zen. I strolled into the studio, mat in hand, and once the clock struck 7:30 (that’s 19:30 for my European peeps), it was on.
Let me say this: My instructor is lovely. She explains things. She is incredibly patient. She says all those yoga words I don’t understand. She is like a size zero with a flat stomach. (This has no bearing on how she is as a teacher, but I’m simply making note of this painful fact.)
Do you know that crazy b**ch…whoa, whoa, whoa…I didn’t mean that…let me start again. Sorry, my bad.
Do you know, that we go through the class, and in the last 15 minutes she springs a surprise on the three of us? Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you — only three of us showed up for the class, which was to be full but I guess with Mother Nature giving us summer weather in the middle of winter, everybody either had short-term memories about the class or simply blew her off. Where was I? Yes, she springs a surprise. We’d be doing…
…wait for it…
Get. The. H*ll. Out. Of. Here. Whaaaaat? Has she lost her d*mn mind? I was NOT prepared for this sh*t. I couldn’t believe it. I was just as shocked then as I was when I was honored as Member of the Year by my professional association over a week ago.
She proceeds to “demonstrate” and then instructs us to go over to the mirrored wall. I haven’t done a hand stand, head stand, no stand, in about 20 years. Back then, I was young and stupid. Now, I’m older and wiser, and although I have health insurance, it ain’t that great — let’s be real. Plus, if I break a bone at my age, I’m out of commission for weeks and when bad weather is on its way, I don’t need the weather reporter to let me know. I’d feel it in my body before the rain starts to fall. Your body becomes better than a meteorologist Doppler radar. You ever notice that when a kid breaks anything, they’re healed in like two weeks? It’s like it n-e-v-e-r happened.
Prepare yourself for a mental picture…
Me on my knees facing the mirror in child’s pose. I bend my body over towards the floor and the mirror, fingers interlocked in a triangle-like shape (as if to pray), elbows planted firmly on the mat. I then lean my body further forward and place my head into my slightly opened palm, kind of on the mat by my fingers and I’m walking my feet closer and closer to the wall making my body smaller and tighter. I then get up on my tippy toes, rear end now sticking in the air and I’m trying to propel one leg up (hoping that the other would follow).
I can only imagine what I looked like from behind with my behind in the air.
I failed. My instructor encourages me to practice. (sigh)
Yoga…The freakin’ saga continues…and not a Zen in sight.
My next class is next week Wednesday. I’m not giving up (yet). Namaste.
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Disclaimer: I’m really very lady-like. Anyone who knows my mother, knows she may have a “fresh” mouth but it isn’t nasty. She is a bit of a Miss Priss. I don’t usually have a mouth of a sailor. Actually, I tend to stay away from extremely foul-mouthed individuals. Obviously, I’m stressed. Hence, the need for Zen.