Okay, so I should preface this post by saying that I've had some extra
time on my hands on account of my job being eliminated six months ago.
After much initial panic, leading into depression after the loss of a
sibling, and my husband then proposing the concept of me "not working"
for a while, well I guess I have embarked on my mid-life crisis. I'm 43
and for the first time since I was 14 I am a non income generator with a
surplus of time. Delightful, right? Time to pause and reflect, time
to explore, time to outline and define the next chapter. Easier said than done for someone who is slightly hyper-active and extremely distracted.
It all started with Amazon local and a super deal on a month of
unlimited yoga classes. Yoga... it spoke to me. I set out to see if
distracted debbie can find Zen.
I decided to start with the class called Beginning Vinyasa. Going into
it I realize this may not have been a wise choice as the description
says that it is a "fairly athletic workout". Keeping in mind that I am
rather chubby and have only made it to the gym half a dozen times in the
last few months, three of which have been in the last 3 weeks. No
problem. It's yoga, breathing and relaxing, how "athletic" can it be?
After grabbing a mat, some blocks, straps, a blanket, towel and some
bean bag thingy like the woman in front of me I set out to find a spot.
Just my luck, the only spot not right in the front next to the
instructor is in the back row right next to some guy that I will
describe as a younger leaner version of Mr. Big (the TV character, not
the band from the 80's). So after debating my two crappy options, I go
with the spot in the back row next to Mr. Big light because at least
this way nobody will be staring at my ass. I set up my mat according to
how others have done, sit criss-cross applesauce to copy my fellow zen
seekers in some stretches. The instructor enters and I feel a little
confidence boost in the fact that she is somewhat chubby too. Let's go,
I can totally do this!
I was doing pretty good with the breathing and posture. Then right
about when things turned into a game of solo Twister as a farm animal
with multiple personality disorder, I realize I have to pee. Not
knowing if it is proper yoga etiquette to excuse oneself to use the
restroom, I tried to put my bladder out of my mind and surrender myself
to Vinyasa. I sucked it up as the movements got more ambitious. My
decision to take the spot in the back row was validated as we downward
dogged until my wrists began to wobble and while this weeble wobbled,
she did not fall down. After much planking, reaching, and some pose
that resembled surfing... all while inhaling and exhaling at the right
time, it was time to lay back and put the bean bag thingy on my eyes and
relax. Relax! A word that my brain receives as a challenge in rapid
fire streaming of random thoughts. The lights are very dim and the
music, something I imagine from Bali, or India is intended to help one
relax. The instructor speaks softly about embracing being at rest,
etc. Right! I can't rest because all I can think about is how the
humming, mumbling vocals in the music possess a tone and reverb akin to
Eddie Vedder. Not so much angsty Eddie, more of a Ukelele songs after first
partaking in some herbal refreshments type of Eddie. So then, while I
am supposed to be embracing "rest" my mind is simultaneously fixated on
the spasm in my butt and planning Eddie's next solo project for a
righteous yoga soundtrack. I wonder if I could "rest" to that?
While I may not have found Zen, nor successfully executed every pose to
it's fullest potential, I consider it a success because I didn't pee
myself, fall down, or pass out. In fact, Mr. Big light was way more
wobbly than me, in fact he almost fell at one point, not that I was checking him out or anything. As I was
using the yoga studio restroom I happened upon a list of yoga etiquette
and helpful tips. "Do not eat or drink an hour prior to class." Note
to self, skip the Grande Oprah Chai latte on your way to the next yoga
class.
Namaste!
