Ever since my decision to become a yoga person, I have been highly coveting a membership to the fanciest yoga studio in town where all of the cool moms go. But it's $175 a month. I am simply not cool enough to make that happen.
But at those prices it pretty much has to be the most magical yoga place on earth, right? And how would I become a "real" yoga person without a "real" yoga studio? It's also 2 minutes from my house and I drive by every day, watching all of the beautiful people in the parking lot. The yoga classes at my gym suddenly became borderline unacceptable, despite the fact that I felt strong, graceful, and athletic each time I went (even though I am none of those things).
God obviously agreed because on Jesus' birthday there was a gift for me--a Living Social deal for 30 unlimited days at the swanky studio for a very affordable price. I was delighted. Even more so when I got a ton of cute, fancy yoga stuff for Christmas. I was going to fit right in! Plus, if I'm already so awesome at the gym's yoga, can you even imagine my abilities after 30 unlimited days at the local mecca for yoga? I'd probably be teaching the classes by then. Maybe.
Today I squashed any doubts I had and chose a class to take. A "power" class but whatever, it said for all levels, and it's just yoga so it can't be too hard. I was feeling all Sporty Spice and confident in my new yoga pants, particularly when I noticed it was mostly older people in my class. I so had this.
As I entered the actual studio, I was met with a wave of heat. I know this is a yoga thing but I disagree with it. I live in Florida, I'm hot all of the time. I avoid Bikram or Hot Yoga like the plague, because that sounds like no fun at all since it involves exercise and extreme heat, two things I routinely avoid.
Then I noticed there was only one spot left available. And it was front and center, practically nose to nose with the teacher. I didn't like that one bit, my timing was bad. But I was going to make the best of it, yoga people make the best of it. Right?
There was incense burning and I was trying not to choke on the heat and the heavy smell. But I'm not complaining because yoga people don't complain!
The rest is too much of a blur to narrate for you but it was intense. It turns out that I am not qualified for power yoga, not even with my fancy yoga pants. Those old people? They were doing head stands and back bends and little flips. My focus point to find my center of balance was the growing puddle of sweat under my neighbor. I was so slippery I looked more like Bambi on ice than the strong ballerina I envision myself to be while doing yoga.
There was one point where I knew with certainty that if I was closer to the door, I would have snuck out, too embarrassed to ever return again.
I truly thought I was going to faint during a head stand attempt and then I just laid there for a while, dripping, sealed to my mat with my own sweat, half-heartedly watching the agile old people who I'm secretly convinced were a troupe of acrobats there to trick me.
Finally, it was time for Savasana (meditation) which, if we're being honest here, is the only damn reason I do yoga. I love lying there after a job well done, clearing my mind and thinking of nothing but my breathing, along with a room full of others all together but in our own individual head space. It is almost spiritual, hearing the chorus of our breath, feeling nothing but the pleasant sensation of my lungs and rib cage expanding with each inhalation, just being.
She lit the incense again and I channeled my inner Dalai Lama to get over it. She likes the incense, just try to embrace it, I told myself; breathing a little less deeply.
And then she turned on some Shania Twain. Really loud Shania Twain.
I couldn't make this up if I tried.
Shania Twain? During savasana at a "true blue" yoga place?
Maybe I'm just not cool enough to get it?
My gym with its air conditioning, its Def Leppard music blaring just behind the glass doors of the fitness room, and its normal, inflexible old people might be where I belong after all.
And it's $10 a month.
I'll try again tomorrow, with a different instructor and class. But this may have cured my envy of the cool moms. I didn't realize they were all so sweaty and reeked of Patchouli.