Based on the number of posts I’ve written about yoga, you might think I fancy myself a real yogi. I don’t. I’ve been practicing yoga for almost ten years, but my body is still stubbornly inflexible. It’s odd since gymnastics then diving carried me through my school years. There’s no trace of that body left.
Last night I found myself lying on my back, eyes covered, relaxing before a packed Flow class at my gym. The door was thrown open so forcefully that my eyes flew open, just in time to see a guy who looked like Tony Danza smiling broadly at everyone. “I am ok,” he began, in what I assume was a Spanish accent. “Last week I popped my tibia out of joint during class. But I was able to pop it back in and I am fine now.”
Everyone tittered. Except me. I was thinking, “Wait. What? Exactly what happened in class last week that you dislocated your leg? And are we going to do it again this week? Because that’s not what I signed up for…”
Yup. That should’ve been a clue for the level of workout I’d inadvertently signed up for. It was a punishing hour-long practice with lots of chair-pose, push-ups and side planks.
When we finally collapsed into corpse pose with our eyes closed at the end of class, the guy on the mat next to me wasted no time dozing off. His snores were straight out of a cartoon.
As a result, instead of relaxing, I spent my final five minutes lying there, eyeing the guy next to me, wondering how the hell he could fall asleep so quickly. I mean, seriously – the guy snored as soon as we were instructed to close our eyes. Who does that?
I may not have achieved the zen-like state that typically comes with an hour of yoga, but – on the other hand – I also didn’t pop my tibia. All told, I’m considering it a win.