So yoga is supposed to be really good for your body and brain. My instructor is awesome, calm, and always mentioning to free our minds and concentrate on our breath. When she says that, I wonder how my breath is? And the dialogue begins in my noggin…
“Does it stink? What did I eat last night? Oh yeah, I had those perogies from Costco. They were pretty good. I sautéed onions with it. At least the onions weren’t raw, so my breath should be okay. I like when Costco does free demos on food. I wonder what amount the check will be this time from Costco? Do people know you don’t have to spend it? You can just cash it in. But we always end up spending it anyway. We have enough Pace Salsa to last until I die.”
Then we move on to these balancing exercises, where I yell “TIMBER!” in my head, as I can only hold the position for 2 seconds. The dialogue continues in my head: “I can just picture myself walking on a tight rope attempting to cross the Grand Canyon. Bu-bye. I’d be dead in a second. How do those guys do that? What was the name of that guy who did it, while saying, Jesus is my savior, or something like that? Okay. Linda. CONCENTRATE! SHUT UP!”
Next we go into downward dog, and I wonder if anyone is looking at my butt and how big it has gotten, as she reminds us to relax our face muscles. I undo my knotted expression, and think about what I refer to as my “what the fuck” wrinkles on my forehead, because I’m always thinking, “what the fuck? Then I wonder if I will ever be good enough at yoga to smell my own crotch.
Everyone is wearing really zen overpriced Lululemon yoga outfits, while I am wearing cruddy shorts and a T-shirt from Sudbury Pizza. As I bend down during my downward dog, I look at how dry my skin is on my thighs, and how hairy my legs are. “Yuck! When did my skin get like this? I have to moisturize more often. And what a pain in the ass it is to shave my legs. I wonder what is more of a pain? A woman shaving her legs, or a man shaving his face? Should I post that question on Facebook? Man, I’m hungry. I wish they had Sudbury Pizza in Arizona. Nick, the Greek was so cute, there. He drove a BMW. That place was always packed. He must have made a lot of cash. The Roast Beef subs are the best! They don’t even know a good pizza here, and the best subs available are from friggin’ Subway! I can’t believe they used that chemical in their bread that they use for tires! What the fuck? …Jersey has great pizza, too. I wish Sea Bright Pizza would come here. At least they finally opened Bianco’s in Tucson.”
My thought is interrupted as the instructor reminds “us” to relax the face again, as she looks specifically at me, and I start to giggle.
Then we proceed with some ridiculous position and I see myself in the mirror, and compare to the other people that look way more graceful.
Next the instructor says we are now going to do “badanahsa” or something like that. So another dialogue begins in my head. “If Italians had there own sort of yoga there would be a bedaubing position. What would it be? Would it be some sort of movement with the hands going up when they say Gabagoo? And what about the French? Rather than reaching for a block, the instructor tells les yogevons (I just made up that word) to grab their vin and cigarette. Slowly motioning to puff and sip. And rather than relaxing the face, she says in a heavy french accent, to make that ridiculous pouty face the French women do. And of course the outfits would have to be tres fashionable.”
Finally, at the end of my relaxing yoga session, my lovely, calming, slow pace voiced instructor says, “Now just relax and let everything go.” At that moment I think about ripping a huge, loud fart. “Wouldn’t it just be hilarious if I did that? Could I? I really do have to fart right now. Must be the perogies. But would anyone laugh? I would. If someone else did it, I would. Oh God. Hold it in, Linda. I wonder if anyone else thinks this much during yoga? I hope at least I lost some friggin’ weight after this torture. I do feel pretty good. And I’ll feel even better when I get into my car and let her rip. Namustgo!”