Wednesday, June 11, 2014

The Yoga Instructor Tried to Murder Me

Last night I dragged myself to a hot yoga class in my small town.  It is at a new yoga studio that recently opened up and they have lots of classes and even childcare.  I was really impressed when I looked at it online.  I attended a Bikram yoga studio for 4 years before I was told to quit in 2012 due to it (apparently) cooking your eggs (or whatever) because it raises your body temperature.  I never understood why someone wouldn't want to do Bikram, it's amazing and you feel great afterwards.

Now I understand why.  I went into the studio early and the lady behind the counter, when she could be bothered to look up from her discussion with another employee, asked me which introductory offer I would like to purchase.  This should have been my first clue.  Most yoga studios I've been to (the two other ones) have asked me after my class to speak to them and decide what type package, if any, I'd like to purchase.  Either way I am going to feel pressured because if I don't buy a big package after the class it's (in my head) tantamount to saying 'your class sucks'.  In the spirit of getting healthier I purchased the 30 days for $30, it's a good deal and it will force me to go.  Then I asked how much to borrow a mat, since I gave away all my old mats and it was $5, $5!! That's like a quarter of the cost of a new mat.  Geesh!  I still paid it, I didn't have a choice since I wasn't prepared for a ridiculous price.

Regrettably I didn't think about the fact that since there was childcare there would be babies.  But I ran quickly away from them (pesky babies) and laid down in the yoga room.

There were only 5 of us in the class including the teacher, all women, so my fat jiggly thighs in short shorts didn't gather too much gagging.  The teacher (again, a woman) had a SIX PACK - ugh, that should have been another clue.  This was Vinyasa yoga, not Bikram, so the class was 60 minutes.  I had been in the room at least 15 minutes before class started, an old ritual from my Bikram days, and so I was nice and warm and sweaty.  Then the yoga instructor tried to kill me, by working out my abs in a constant stream of poses.  I know it's YOGA and CORE and all, but OMG that was not what I expected.  Also who is going to be able to do a downward dog to standing split on their first class?  I couldn't even do it after 4 years because my hips are incredibly tight and do not bend that way, or really any way at all, thanks hips. 

So I had to sit down a few times because I was exhausted and overheating.  I practically burst into tears.  I was sitting there, trying to catch my breath, choking back tears.  Because I used to be able to do this, maybe not this exact practice, but a similar one.  And all I could think was 'these women, they are still doing it and they probably even get to have babies'.  It's not fair, it's not goddamned fair.

Yoga can bring out or up strong emotions and it's not surprising that the loss of breath and heat made me want to cry.  I expected it to be easier to return.  Even though I don't weigh the same I still expected it to be like an old pair of running shoes that I slip back into.

On the way out the teacher was very interested in talking to the girl who had left ahead of me.  She barely even acknowledged me, except for the awkward moment where she asked 'what was your name again?' and I answered because I thought she was talking to me.  She wasn't.  I also wasn't impressed with the clientele.  It made me realize that my hubby's ex-wife would probably fit it, all tan and blond and perky with perfect little children and lives.  Half of that is clearly a lie, but she (and these women) still seem to have those lives.  I'm just a dark hair, pale skinned barren second wife, and it feels like they can see right through me.  (Hopefully the judgment is mostly due to my resting bitch face.)

So now I'm left with 29 days of classes at a studio that I'm not loving already.  It's not the studio's fault that I want to cry when I exercise, but that teacher is still a douche.  I'll go back (I'm nothing if not cheap), but after that I may go to the non-hot yoga place in town with the nice and normal and non-six-pack teacher.

Oh, and I don't want to go back to my old, perfectly acceptable, yoga studio because I told them I was leaving to do fertility treatments and it's been two years and they'll probably be like 'how old is your baby' and then I'll definitely cry.

No comments:

Post a Comment