This is me in my new yoga pants, in an attempt to blend (read as look professional) in my new yoga class.
I have been talking about learning yoga for a long time now. Three years is a long time to be talking about the same thing. And we all know, when no-action-talk -only (NATO), it leads to nothing. So when the opportunity presented itself, ie happen to pass by the community centre, I grabbed the 'join-member, book-the-class and good-to-go!’ experience.
For my first lesson, I imagined myself arriving calm and early, gracefully unrolling the yoga mat at the good spot that I had selected, and then settling down to wait patiently for the instructor.
Instead, I arrived late, couldn't find the stated room, panicked, and pulled at almost every door I saw along the walkway. When I finally found the room, the class had already commenced and I had to tip toe embarrassingly across the rows of professional yogis all already stretched out on their mats, to my class situated right at the other end of the studio.
Hurriedly I unrolled my dusty mat at the only spot available and found, to my dismay, the ends of the mat curling upwards from years of being wound round. I tried to look as cool as I could, but the best that I could conjure up was the scene of Aladdin on a flying carpet. And a dusty one at that.
I quickly got into position, imitating what the instructor was doing. “Leeeesen to your body,” she kept emphasising. We started with deep breathing exercises and as I was having a slight cold, it was hard inhaling deeply through whatever parts of my nose that were left unblocked. I tried to concentrate on my breathing, but all that was going through my mind was regret on why I did not think to clear my nose before coming in for the lesson. Did I not listen to my body or did it not tell me?
We did some simple stretches next and even though the positions were nothing difficult, my joints were creaking in protest and my stiff hamstrings were silently screaming throughout the lesson. But the worst was my tummy. The dreaded sweet potato I had for breakfast made massive amounts of gas form and roll about inside asking, no, demanding to be released. It was a sheer torture.
It wasn't easy trying to breath in deeply with half a blocked nose, stretch with muscles like a 70 year old, and all the while, with the conscious knowledge of gas trying to release themselves.
Thankfully, the lesson ended without any incidents and although I may be a far cry from the calm and poised disposition that I imagined myself to be, it was a good start all in all. I might have strained my toes while trying to execute a 'rock-scissors-paper' stretch, but hey, more awareness of my toes now. I’m listening to ya!
So, till the next lesson, Namaste.
And no more sweet potatoes for breakfast from now on.
