The first time I walked into a Yoga class I was so excited to learn. I loved the comfy clothes and the no shoes rule. The sound of water and spa music lulled me into a state of confidence that I could do this. I knew I needed to learn to chill and relax (many peeps have confirmed this) and this was gonna be my ticket to calm. The room was dark and full of other yogis. I was late, of course, so I hurried to find a mat and take my place in the back. The studio was wall to wall mirrors, which would prove to not be a good thing for me.
The teacher started giving instructions and everyone moved in unison and assumed a pose. Downward Dog she said, I thought, what the heck? I didn’t think this was gonna be a sex position class. I was alarmed for a minute, but decided to live and let live, so I pushed my butt in the air and started to breath loudly with everyone else. We stayed there for what seemed forever. Blood rushed to my head and I became aware that my arms were not prepared to hold my voluptuous body in that position for long. I held it and prayed for another command from the teacher. Low Cobra was the next command. I watched the gal beside me and was relieved that this I could do. The next pose we were on our feet in Warrior. I managed to get myself in some semblance of the Warrior only to have my socks start sliding on the tile forcing me into the splits of sorts. (That’s why I was the only one in socks!)
I worked on the poses and took comfort in the instructors gentle assurance that we do “our version of the pose” I was pretty sure she was looking at me every time she said that. I love that there is no pressure to do the poses like anyone else. However, the mirror reflected that my version was so far from everyone else’s version, that it seemed I was in another class. Even sitting cross legged was painful! I am not a flexible gal.
Toward the end of the class the great Yogi woman said something like freestyle. I watched in horror as everyone either stood on their heads or formed a living pretzel with their bodies which only made me think of food. People were doing yoga magic that I could only dream about having a body that was capable of achieving. So, what did I do? I just sat there in my version of cross legged meditation with my fingers forming that yoga prayer thing, and pretended to be relaxing. Man, this yoga thing is not easy. Maybe I’m not cut out for it. I left discouraged. I wanted to be a Yogi. I longed for that command of my body! I saw that Youtube guy that was like 400 pounds and how he slimmed down just by doing Yoga. What is that matter with me I thought.
I decided to try another class with people more my age. I found another studio and wanted to try Restorative Yoga. That sounded good! I have plenty of restoring to do.
I walked into the class, late of course, and loved it immediately. I was the youngest in the class which was a dream to start with. We laid on mats with lots of pillows around and a blanket. The music was soft and the grand Yogi master woman spoke softly and slowly. We pretty much stretched and relaxed and laid in different positions…breathing. I was in love! Then, during the final resting pose with everyone practically asleep, a gastric explosion somehow escaped my radar. It was loud, very loud. The room was small and quiet and there was no way to escape blame for this colossal infraction. I was horrified! What in the hell????? I didn’t know what to do, so I just stayed there, breathing loudly, praying for it to be over. After the class, I folded up my equipment and hurried out of there in 2. 1 seconds.
So, even though my experiences with Yoga haven’t been all that I had hoped, I am undaunted. Now I just practice in my living room, no mirrors, doing my version of the poses, relaxing and letting it rip if need be. This is "my version” of Yoga. Maybe someday I’ll be ready to practice with other Yogis on a hill in Tibet, but for now I’m DIYY. (Do It Yourself Yoga)