Competitive Yoga

So, about two years ago, I was back in Minnesota for a little stay. My good friend had driven up from St. Paul to spend time with me over the weekend. She looked absolutely phenomenal! She had started practicing yoga and said that it had really made a difference in her life. It was very apparent that I needed to bring in some yoga to my work-out rut.



When I got back to Arizona I quickly drove the 2 blocks to L.A. Fitness (it was 115 degrees outside, I wasn't going to walk anywhere!) and picked up the class schedules. Since I was still on summer break, I was able to start the very next morning with my new favorite activity. It was off to a great start!



The first class went pretty well, besides the fact that I made the mistake of wearing a baseball cap and couldn't properly lay my head down, and that I didn't bring a towel with, so the downward facing dogs were straining my shoulders under the slipping of my sweaty palms. I kept the image of my friend and remembered how beautiful she looked and wanted that so badly for myself that I knew I couldn't give up so easily.



My next class I didn't make those rookie mistakes. I was sure to wear my hair in a high ponytail, bring a towel, and for extra measure I painted my chipped toenails, because it seemed like we were staring at them pretty often.



Over the next several months, I became a yoga practitioner. I gave myself that label, because I read it in the Yoga magazine that I was now recieving in the mail from my fellow yoga practicing sister. I could hold my tree pose against my inner thigh, I had great form with my triangle pose, and a full plow was nothing to be scared of anymore. I was getting good.



At that time, I started a new sport within my yoga class. No one knew they were playing, yet all of them were players. I was going to compete with the other people in the class to see if I had the best pose, especially those really skinny girls that always seemed to be good at everything. Our teacher would remind us continually that we were only to focus on our own bodies and stop when it started to hurt. I couldn't stop myself from squatting a little lower, holding the Sphynx pose a little higher, and curling my body backwards the best I could for the wheel pose. I pretended to close my eyes, but couldn't help to peek an eye open and compare myself to the brunette in the front. "How is she keeping her heels down while bent over like that?" I would think to myself. "Must push harder to win this pose."



I would leave class dripping with sweat, while others would still be wearing the hooded sweatshirt that they came in. How could that be? Didn't they even try?! Pfft, mere peons in my attempt to master the yoga circuit.



My friend was very excited for my newfound love with yoga and we discussed it often. I kept my game to myself because it totally erased the truly wonderful reasons why people practice. For a wedding gift, she found an amazing yoga studio for me to try out. I was overjoyed to start at this place and quickly put myself into the medium level class. The class was filled with mostly middle-aged to older women. Ha! This was going to be easy. Are you kidding me? I eat women like them for breakfast.



The very first part of the class was breathing...simple enough until we started having to breathe out for a really long time. I could barely make it halfway as the rest of them just kept blowing. How did they have that much air to blow out? They also were able to recite a mantra that I had never heard, but sounded very similar to "The Circle of Life" from the Lion King. I was completely lost. Thankfully, everyone really did keep their eyes shut in this class or they would have seen my lips make the motion of "doo-dee, doo-dee." We started with some poses that I was familiar and comfortable with and then she said we were going to stand on our heads. "Ha!" I loudly shreiked.



Wouldn't you know, it wasn't a joke, nor were any of the other women as appalled as I was at this crazy proposition. Sure enough, a woman in her sixties was on her head in a matter of seconds and the rest of the class followed. I sat in confusion and humbly asked the instructor for help. She gladly pushed my legs to the sky where I was able to stay for a few seconds before tumbling down. The sixty-year-old lady was still standing on her head.



Game over. Nomaste.