Wednesday, April 14, 2010


I did it.  I went back to yoga.  I know I vowed to weeks ago, but making it public really forced me to go…eventually.  And it wasn’t too bad.  Honestly.  I think the instructor designed the class just around me – all the stretches were the ones I should have been doing after every run but somehow seem to always forget.
Flatulence is an interesting problem in Yoga.  Perhaps it’s the positions you worm your way into, or maybe it’s the way the instructors foster a sense of sharing and togetherness.  “We’re all on a journey, supporting and encouraging each person’s individual path.”  Maybe so, but does that really include their bowel movements?
I always wonder what my fellow devotees (as we’re sometimes called) are thinking when the instructor is banging on about our journey.  If you’re lucky they let you get into child’s pose (though to this day I’ve never seen a kid actually pull this move) where you fold your legs under themselves, lean forward between them and stretch your arms out in front.  The instructor can’t see your face this way so I tend to consider it nap time and let my mind wander.  While they are busy telling me about the joy of a yogi’s spirit I am busy planning my next meal.  Baked beans or eggs, I think if it’s an early morning pre-breakfast class.  The good thing about yoga is, you can usually get by without talking to anyone so I tend to rush out of the house without cleaning my teeth.  I don’t deem undies essential either since you’re in form fitting clothes as it is, but I do consider my peers and wack on a bit of deodorant.  I wish I could say the same about them.  Yoga is often synonymous with vegans, being at one with your environment and dreadlocks. None of which I have a problem with.  Abandoning hygiene however, I do.  If you’re living in a hut, practicing your warrior three on an abandoned beach, go ahead, smell as much as you like.  But this is Australia.  We consider ourselves a civilized nation.  Deodorant is not a conspiracy, it’s a necessity.  Trust me people, nothing puts you further away from being ‘at one with your environment’ than filling the room with the stench of last night’s tofu curry.
I also tend to get a bit distracted by the ujjayi breathing they try to make you do.  (Other names include ocean breath, hissing breath, or victorious breath, though I’m not quite sure what you’ve won or whom you’ve beaten).  Apparently we’re trying to constrict the throat to find a more powerful breath but the logic doesn’t hold for me.  I’ve tried it, but I feel like I’m gargling my own spit and everyone around me sounds like they are preparing to hock a loogie which makes me very wary to slip into a yogic state and find my zen.
Having decided to breath exactly as I’ve been doing for the last thirty years, I proceeded through the class and worked out some of the knots in my left quad.  The best part is the final move where you get to lie down, close your eyes and meditate.  I enjoy a little mini-nap here, and am about to go an enjoy a longer one in my waterbed.  Goodnight blogees.  I’m sorry I haven’t written more of late, life outside the yoga studio has been very far from zen.

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