Ahhh, time for yoga.How lovely!.. what a joy it is to spend an hour of the day in total relaxation, not a thought in my mind, such peacefulness, only me and my empty mindful mind….. PAHAHAHA! Erm, the word NOT doesn’t even begin to cover the hilariousness of this concept, and though I know that is exactly what I SHOULD be thinking about yoga class, I know me and many other woman I have conversated with take part in an entirely different experience.
So let me break it down in a much more honest fashion than you may have heard previously, or possibly it was delivered to you by means of the media, most likely a youtube video that left you with envy so green that 4 minutes in you could likely massacre the incredible hulk… should the challenge present itself . However of course you could also be in the same boat as me and relate quite comfortably.. or on the flip side happen to be a seasoned yogi who has mastered the wonder of being a hot ass yoga chick/fella, and in that case?….. through gritted and spitting teeth I give you my desperately forcrd congratulations.
So where to begin? Well, actually that’s easy, as even walking in the door brings heart palpitations as you are met with a sea of eyes (if you are ALWAYS late like me of course) pouring over you and your general attire.. Well at least that what you are imagining anyway, the truth is neither here nor there and that goes for every mad thought us ladies have during these aneurysm inducing classes.
You feel your hands go clammy as you scan madly for someone you know, and the rising anxiety makes you so dizzy it’s hard to even recognise your friends! Second to that, even if they came the chance of a spot next to them is slim, and the panic turns your stomach as you often realise you are left with the real possibility of a spot infront of… the mirror…. That friggin mirror! I mean REALLY!? Women are expected to contort their body into ungodly positions of imaginative torture and all the while have body parts we have never seen in our adult lives thrust infront of our face and under the scrutiny of 20 strangers.
The mirror has a wide array of problems actually, and the following is my favourite for sure. A friend of mine amuses me greatly when she describes how numerous times she has been stricken with a mirror spot, and twisted in a knot has found herself rarely and smugly admiring her form and physique, commending herself on her progress and general yoga smexiness. When suddenly the sickening realisation she is perving on some other chicks behind hits her like a wet fish. Funny, but so, so awful.
I personally have found myself time and time again with my head peering through between my legs, trying as hard as I try to ignore the jeering voices in my head egging me on to glance at myself, but my eyes ALWAYS betray me and flicker instantly to the reflection of my thighs! I feel sick as I hysterically grasp at the hope that this mirror is just a mean one, one of those distorted kinds you find in some clothes stores, and wonder pathetically when on earth my legs became so ginormous. They cant possibly be as bad as they appear can they?? I mentally chant positive affirmations to myself and beg for the position to end or else my retinas may burn themselves into a crisp of shame.
Sooo many other thoughts cloud your mind during yoga classes, invading their way into your breathing and choking up your feable attempts to clear the space for “peace”.
You spy a pert butt infront of you and for 5 minutes are hypnotised with jealousy and hatred, with only your self assurance that she hasn’t had kids yet, she doesn’t know te stress and pain of life. You tell yourself she is simple and naïve and probably has a miserable life of starvation to look that way… and just when you are almost convinced they turn around and you are greeted with a woman who is twice your age and has the figure of a victoria’s secret model. I mean.. SERIOUSLY?!
One of my fav issues is the crotch hole dread. Every time I am in class and first time comes to throw myself over my legs and lunge my fanny toward the ceiling, I am forced to find a sneaky second to slip a finger over my seams to ensure no holes are exposing a place I personally like to save for my hubby and the toilet bowl. It’s just weird let’s be honest.. but unavoidable! (I know you’re thinking I could check in the car first.. but thread doesn’t choose when it snaps ok!)
And whats with the breathing? You make every effort to appear poised, exerting your breath in a meaningful but pleasant display. However what comes out is always substantially appalling, and the challenge of not sounding like some enthusiastic porn star or a friggin 250lb russian bodybuilder grunting through a deadlift session seems insurmountable.
And man alive you better hope the teacher doesn’t start to head your way. Mid position you spy her edging around the room tweaking people into place, and trust me when I tell you this…. You DONT wanna be tweaked! You push yourself as far as you can, every muscle quivering and screaming in pain, eyes wide with panic as she passes you by, her gaze travelling slowly over every inch of your form, deciding whether you will feel her wrath. It is quite literally terrifying, and easily comparable to when you were in primary school waiting with colossal distress to get picked last for rounders teams.
And don’t even get me started on the leggings!! Like seriously.. It’s fashion warfare and all guns are blazing let me tell you! An honest friend admitted a decent chunk of the lesson is occupied by her observation of which leggings were purchased from which store and which were sourced online. I should say at this point that we all live in a rural location so saying decent clothes are hard to come by is a major understatement. Looking snazzy at yoga is the height of cool OK, and clocking the chick rocking up in her shiny new pants is quite intense mark my words. Through the faint murmur of feigned appreciation in the room you can literally smell the envy seeping out of our pores. Once an awesome pair has sauntered into the room I can easily be dazed for a full 30 minutes imagining what design I could aquire to make some heads turn and picture my entrance like I am some kinda loser face in a Katy Perry video. Sad…. Just sad.
So with this added pressure to dress like an instagram model, perform the positions of torture, avoid the mirror, and all the while being bendier and more effortlessly beautiful than anyone else in the room you may ask me why we do this to ourselves? Why even go to yoga… right??
Well, us ladies have convinced ourselves it is for spiritual growth.. That we can also be and feel like the bronzed goddess we saw on social media, who was doing crow pose on the beach in Thailand, as she travelled in her gap year. And that being able to put our legs over our head will be useful in our old age.. I mean, why wouldn’t it be?! And also if we do yoga it automatically makes us sexy meditation Queens of light and love right?
It’s a badge of honour, and when mentioned casually in any conversation it leaves an impression on any listener that you watch TV with your belly on the floor in box splits, and can pick up your kids with your feet while in handstand. And you do this with a core that would rival the earth’s iron inner and with glutes that could open a pistachio nut.
Well…. that’s what everyone else thinks…. Right…?!