I Hate Yoga.

There. I said it. Sometimes I hate yoga.  And not just occasionally.

Yoga teachers say it’s “just” resistance. I found one definition of this resistance – Your Ego’s natural distrust of your own essence.  nope.  don’t think so.  My essence would just rather sit on the porch with a beer.  And my Ego can get behind that.

Plus I hate being somewhere at a specific time.

But, whatever, yoga is good for me so I cram my rolls into stretchy material. Fancy stuff from Walmart.  I avoid yellow and black because I would look like a lumpy monarch caterpillar.  I love caterpillars, metamorphosis, transformation.  So, maybe it would be appropriate? But very asthetically unpleasing. so no. just no.

The husband is wearing a bright orange tank sometimes referred to as a “wife beater” although probalby not by yoga types.

We arrive to LOVE yoga studio.   The lobby area has sitar music and cucumber water and hushed conversations about otherworldly things like where to get your nails done.    The yoginis are all cool and coiffed and draped in Lululemon. They are an elegant roomful of whippets and greyhounds who are now affronted by the lurpy Midwest golden Retriever types – us – who just bounded in trying to say hello.

The teacher is beautiful, tiny and serene and I want to hate her.  She asks if we are new to studio.  How did she guess?  We are invited into the yoga class room.  One wall is painted bight orange with a giant sun on it.  Everyone starts arranging their gear and warming up.  Husband goes to the sun wall which matches his wife beater exactly.  He throws himself against the wall  posing dramatically like a giant chameleon.  I give him the stink eye and he comes back to his mat.  Hopefully he will behave.

So we begin.

I don’t mind not knowing the poses.  I like my beginner’s mind.   In fact the most intelligent thing I have probably ever said is ” I don’t know.”

But I hate chanting and I hate sitting still and being contained in this room for an hour.   Today the poses are too hard and the routine goes so fast we don’t have a chance.

Finally it’s over and we are in shavasana or the corpse pose which seems about right.  I got this one.   Relax.  Have a blank mind.

But then I become mindful.  Of everything.

Sound. The hissing.  I don’t know if Darth Vader joined the class or someone is on a mechanical ventilator in the corner.

And smell. The perfume. All 7 varieties.

My senses are working says my busy lil money brain.  Maybe this is good?  What other senses?  Taste.  Oh yeah a big ol burger would taste so good right now.  What’s in the fridge at home?  nah I don’t want to cook.  Wonder if we can stop at 5 Guys on the way home.  Not in this get up.  I wonder if I can remember this grocery list. When is this gonna be over?  Did we turn off the coffee pot before we left home?

And then it is over.  We all sit up, some words are said and then we bow and say Namaste.  Or most people do.  Husband says “Have a nice day.”