First read Part 1 if you haven’t already.
What has two thumbs and took her first gym class in years?
After a false start in which I signed up for something called Cardio Video Dance only to realize NOPE), I talked myself into a Vinyasa yoga class. And by “yoga” please know that I don’t mean serious yoga like that taught at Greenhouse. I mean the kind that comes free at my somewhat down-at-heels gym.
“Do it for the blog,” I told myself as my finger hovered over the mouse. With that motivation, I clicked Register.
Unlike with Cardio Video Dance, I actually showed up for yoga, albeit a minute or so late. I arrived to find the studio crowded and the lights already dimmed.
“Where can I get a mat?” I asked the handsome bearded guy sitting near the door. He pointed toward the far corner of the room. Great. I have my own mat obviously. It’s just that I like to keep it clean and dry in a closet in my apartment, OK?
After scurrying across the studio and back, I planted my mat between Bearded Stranger and a woman with long shiny brown hair. Watching her coax her hair into a perfect ponytail, I imagined her Instagram feed. Surely it would be full of #cleaneating and green juice and inspirational messages. We would not be friends.
But I could copy her yoga moves, right? After all, I was in the back of the room sans contact lenses and with a massive pillar separating me from the instructor whose name I never did catch. Ponytail looked like a better yogini than Bearded Stranger who upon closer inspection, I noticed was wearing some sort of anklet. Sigh.
This being my first yoga class in approximately four years thanks to breaking a bone in my wrist, I felt somewhat lost during the class. Fortunately I’m a decent faker.
I was surprised by the number of dudes in the class. It was probably 65% female/35% male. Apparently men are getting the message that yoga is
a good spot to pick up women a good work out. Duly noted.
To be honest, I considered quitting the class three times. My wrist hurt and I wanted to lie down in corpse pose more than we did. Twenty minutes in, I was breathing harder than expected and after thirty, I was sweating. Can you imagine how much glistening I’d have done in Cardio Video Dance?
Our nameless instructor played music which I don’t think is customary, but it helped me get through the class. In my head I was playing Name That Tune instead of focusing on my quad’s violent twitching during Warrior I. When John Mayer’s “Gravity” came on, though, I may have engaged in a bit of side-eye. No one noticed because by that point, we were supposed to be breathing with our eyes closed. I peeked and confirmed the obedience of others.
All told, I looked at the clock five, maybe six times. But I made it through all 55 minutes of the class. I didn’t quit and I was even good at a few things which matters in competitive sports like yoga.
Pigeon pose? Nailed it. Ponytail couldn’t come close to my pigeon. Bearded stranger might have stared. My hips, they are OPEN! I beat you, Ponytail. Even in my laziness, I am flexible. Imagine how flexible I can be if I don’t wait another four years to go back?
Post class, I was sore from the muscles in my shoulders and back to my hamstrings. In a good way except when I almost cried about carrying my gym bag on the crowded subway ride home. No one gave up their seat for me.
I won’t be so nice after my next yoga class so look out.