Elderly Yoga

I love a yoga class. I’m terrible at it, but I love it. At some point in my yoga experience I will inevitably end up kicking someone in the face when I go into fighting samurai or getting stuck in blooming orchid.

It should be noted that these are not accurate names of yoga positions, as I’m typically too busy thinking about not falling to pay attention to proper names.

So, in an attempt to get away from construction workers overtaking my house, I decided to attend a 10:30am yoga class at the local gym. I should have been suspicious by the small amount of people in the room…me and another woman…but I decided to stay. I thought at least I will get some personal attention. It was terrible.

I kid you not, a woman in her 60’s walked in to teach the class. I was immediately concerned, not by her age, but by the leotard she was wearing over her long tights. It was too late to leave. It was terrible.

She began to play her music. I should be clear; by music I mean nature noises. Like whales and chirping birds. I have a bird. I don’t want to listen to pre-recorded noises. I like to listen to instrumental music. Music where I visualize myself riding on a horse in an open field or I don’t know, watching clouds. All I could think about in this class was Dory from Finding Nemo or being attacked by whales. It wasn’t working for me. It was terrible.

We did absolutely nothing but breath for an entire hour. I was looking forward to perfecting my open butterfly and crying baby poses. I was looking forward to being a freakin’ tree. All I got in an hour was breathing and babbling. “Think about what kind of personality traits you want. Focus on that trait and it will be.” ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I would like focus on toning my stomach muscles and or kicking you in the face, that’s what I’m gonna focus on. Thank you very much. It was terrible.

I ended the class lying on my back listening to water. Yes, that’s right. Water. I would like to inform all of you that I drank TWO bottles of water before attending that hour long class. TWO. It was terrible.

So after the bow, I left that class. On my way to the bathroom the other woman in the class stopped me and had this lovely question, “What the hell was that?” Good times, good times.

Nama-Freakin-Ste