namaste or whatever

So, i have this idea that i want to get in shape - tame the flab that is my belly and everything that comes between there and my knees. Plus, i want to wear a bikini to the poolside social at BlogHer - i kid. As a result i signed up for a yoga class at the community centre that started this evening.

Aside from the fact that just signing up caused me major anxiety - hello no children at my knees to help me avoid actually talking to people - it meant leaving the house in (shhhhh) exercise clothes.

As i was leaving parker yelled at the top of his lungs "NO YOGA!!!!!" I almost relented. I didn't.

As i pulled in to the parking lot i found a dark spot and contemplated hiding in the car for 90 minutes and then going home. I talked to myself for a few minutes then went in.

The first person i saw was my daughters teacher - weird. I grabbed my mat and rushed to sit down, carefully finding a spot with nobody on either side. As i got up my nerve to look around i realized i'd made a terrible mistake. I signed up for seniors yoga! Seriously, i was the youngest by at least 20 years. Hey! Maybe this is a good thing; i am the youngest and perhaps the thinnest and maybe even less stiff than some of the ladies. No! These were some limber seniors.

Then the best part - two teenage girls walked in, looked around and grabbed each others hands and sat down trembling. Class begins! Wait, one of the ladies is handi-capable in some way because she has to comment on every stretch or position that there is "an easier way!" "Wait! Look! If i bend my knees it's way easier to touch my toes!" Now, i think this woman is wrecking the OHM because everyone is looking a little pissed when she interrupts the mouth pipe music or whatever the hell it is. Except the teenagers, they are terrified and trying very hard not to look AT ANYBODY. But damn they are flexible, foot over the back of their heads flexible. I can't help staring at them. They are so cute and pretty and self-conscious.

But then, shit, i get a sight of myself in the mirror and not only am i totally un-flexible but my belly is hanging out of the top of my mom's LuluLemon hand-me-down yoga pants! Gross.

The end of class is the relaxation part. That is the hardest part for me. Whenever someone tells me to think about breathing i can't breathe. I start to hyper-ventilate.

Panic!

But wait, i feel really gassy. All the ass-in-the-air poses have let the gas do what it must. And it must rise. So the teacher is saying feel your bottom relax, your perineum, your thighs. And i am sitting beside my daughters teacher hyper-ventilating and SQUEEZING my ass so as to keep the gas in.

Finally, it was over.

I raced out and guess what i passed on the way out? The teenagers smoking? No! The seniors smoking!