I’ve been practicing yoga regularly for two years now. True yogis use the word “practice” because it’s part of the yoga lingo, but I use it because it’s actually kind of accurate for me; I’m not very good at it, so I simply practice, with the hopes of one day mastering it.
Anyway, tonight I found myself doing something that’s becoming increasingly common for me – mentally apologizing to my fellow yogis on my way to the studio. Tonight’s reason was simple: I’d swum right after work, then somehow scored rockstar parking in front of the Amersterdam Falafel shop in Adams Morgan (karma?) on my way home.
When rockstar parking presents itself in front of Amsterdam Falafel, only a fool turns a blind eye to fate and drives on. A smart person seizes that spot and runs in to a grab a three-ball falafel and dress it up – even if it’s only 20 minutes before said-person’s yoga class is slated to begin.
Not considering myself a dumb person, I did just that.
The primary challenge with pulling that move is NOT that you’re going to a yoga class with a full stomach. The real issue is that – if you’re like me – you CAN’T CONTROL YOURSELF when it comes to the garlicky parsley sauce and you eat enough of it to drive vampires to another continent.
I knew what I was doing, even as I did it. And yet, I didn’t stop, I didn’t scale back my application of the garlic sauce. No sir. I loaded that falafel up like I was paid by the pound.
Even if you HATE falafel, you'll love it once you realize you have all these toppings to choose from. Seriously, it's like heaven.
So twenty minutes later, as I walked into class, I popped a stick of gum into my mouth, hoping to somewhat mitigate the stench I was certain to emit. Unfortunately, the teacher’s lesson for the day centered around “breath work” – meaning that even if I could somewhat mask my deliciousness in a normal class, we would damn near hyperventilate with some large and fast (and foul) opened-mouth breaths.
I reiterated my mental apology, and it reminded me of another class, nearly a year ago, when I’d found myself cringing and apologizing. In that instance, it wasn’t my breath I was apologizing for – it was my breasts.
See, I’d been given a gift certificate to Lululemon (an awesome yoga store) and had just procured a few new yoga tops. Being dedicated to yoga and all, Lululemon’s tops are form-fitting and have great bras built into them so you don’t need to layer up for your workout.
Or so I thought.
I walked straight from the store to my yoga class, excited to finally have a fun (and functional) top to wear. About five minutes into class, in my first Downward Facing Dog, I got an EYEFUL. My top may have supported my breasts, but it in no way contained them.
I fidgeted through the entire class, trying to minimize the inches of cleavage I had on display at any given time. I wrinkled my eyebrows and stared sadly into the face of the woman across from me, mentally pleading with her to forgive me for almost putting her eyes out with my nipples. She averted her eyes. (Perhaps wisely? An act of self-preservation?)
So I guess it’s not an altogether new experience to spend the a 90 minutes class mentally apologizing. Breath, breasts – there’s really only one difference: when it’s just garlic, people are still willing to make eye contact… even if they’re crying from the smell.
pithypants 
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