Yoga: A History

I'm going to open this post with an apology. Because this post is about my personal experiences with yoga, I am absolutely going to copy and paste some excerpts that I've written about the subject from my other blog, The Lentil Project. Let's start with my personal yoga history, which began (surprise surprise) on the West Coast about four years ago. 

When I lived in Portland, Oregon, I joined an amazing 24-hour gym that had everything: pools, hot tubs, saunas, elliptical machines with TVs, and dozens of classes. And because it was open 24-7, I ran out of my usual excuses for not going. So on a Saturday morning not unlike the one I just enjoyed, I ate a nice breakfast, and went to my very first yoga class. My first yoga class which, as it turned out, looked like an open audition for Swan Lake. I had never seen so many ridiculously perfect female figures in my whole life. Their bodies were meant to wear form-fitting yoga pants and cute, snug tank tops. I, however, sauntered in with baggy gym shorts, hairy legs (this didn't bother me so much. I was in Portland, after all. They're pretty loosey goosey about body hair) and a sloppy t-shirt bearing a photo of the male leads from "The Godfather" on it. It also didn't help that most of the yoga goddesses were toting around diaper bags and strollers, a fact which I noted with a most un-yoga-like resentment. If anyone in that class looked as though they just had a ten pound baby ravage all their best body parts for nine months, it was me. Nevertheless I unrolled my sister's mat waaaaay in the back of the studio and was determined to nama-stay. 

Fun fact about yoga: You shouldn't eat anything for several hours before or after a class. A couple of lotuses and awkward pigeons later, I was feeling every bite of scrambled tofu that I had eaten that morning. The instructor kept saying, "This yoga workout is giving your organs a much-needed massage" while I kept thinking "Dear God, please don't let me be 'Fat Hairy Vomit Girl' in this yoga class..." But as I transitioned to downward dog, the tofu began to upward heave. Do you have any idea how hard it is to quickly (and quietly) make your way through three dozen mats full of yoga goddess freak of nature mothers doing tree poses? I was like a rhinoceros barreling through a forest of perfectly-bodied trees, to the soothing background music of Enya. I just barely made it out the door before I shoved my head into the nearest trash can and released all of my inner peace...s. I never did go to another class in Portland, and yoga was quickly placed in the category of "Exercises That Only Skinny People Do (like Running, Spin and Pilates)" 

But last September when I felt compelled to make exercising a habit, one of the first things I was given (well, lent, but I have little intention of giving it back yet) was a copy of "The Biggest Loser Yoga Workout". It took me a very long time to muster up the motivation to give it a go, but then, wonder of wonders, it turned out to be an amazing workout video. While I despise the Biggest Loser show itself, I truly loved the yoga video. It actually had fat people on it bending, sweating, huffing, and puffing to Bob's firm but gentle, Southern-style instructions. It didn't even matter that I almost always fell over during the first three weeks of doing the DVD because I kept thinking "If those fatties can do this, then so can I". There's no question that that DVD, combined with regular walking, helped me shave off my first fifteen pounds.

So with a renewed faith in yoga, I went to my very first group class at Jersey Fitness since Vomitfest 2008. I braced myself for being the lone short, hairy, Italian with baggy clothes on amidst the Jersey-style collection of the yoga goddesses (they come with spray tan). What I did not prepare myself for was being half of the female population in that Saturday class. I was greeted warmly by six older gentleman in their late fifties to early sixties. One of them in particular, Jim, said "Wonderful, we have another girl! I hope you ladies don't mind if I just stick my mat in between you two! (wink)" Jim was attired in a tie-dyed Rita's Italian Ice t-shirt and baggy jeans. I was slightly perplexed at the thought of this older man doing yoga poses in jeans, but my concerns were immediately rendered unnecessary. Within what I can only describe as a striptease second, the jeans were whipped off, leaving behind the tightest and shortest of spandex biker shorts. It took every ounce of newly acquired inner yoga strength to NOT shake with laughter at that very moment. 

Fun Fact #2 about yoga: You shouldn't wear baggy shirts*** especially when your entire class is doing all of their movements directly in front of floor-to-ceiling mirrors. After my first plank, I looked up to see most of my chest waving its salutations to anyone looking my way through the mirrors. From then on, I spent most of the class with my shirt collar yanked up and clenched between my teeth so as to avoid anymore National Geographic-worthy flashing. Jim, I found, was not nearly as concerned with his body parts, which were quite clearly displayed through his skin-tight biker shorts. I wasn't trying to look, honest. Yoga is a lot like the game of Twister; sometimes you end up in positions where you're involuntarily looking upon random bits of another person. Jim breathed, bent, stretched, and twisted with the most astounding gracefulness and personal confidence that I've ever seen in a man whose shorts could make Richard Simmons blush. At one point during the cool down, we were instructed to lie on our right side and only allow our minds to fixate on a single word (ideally it would be love, peace, God, hope). I was staring at the back of Jim's tye-dyed Rita's shirt thinking "Rita's....Rita's...heeeey, they have free water ice this Tuesday. That might be a loop-hole to my Lent(il) Project because technically I'm not buying any food. It would be free. Crap, I have to focus on one word. Hmm..Free. Free....water ice. Maybe I'll get mango..GAH! Focus! (Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeep) Was that...did one of the guys just fart? How the HECK can I focus now? I can't even stop shaking. Dear God in Heaven please don't let me fart because I'm laughing too hard..." 

***Because I started taking several group classes at the same time, there was a good two week period in which I was a total moron about proper gym attire, hence all the crazy boob references in the past two posts. I have since invested in several tank tops and sports bras. To any of my instructors or classmates reading this, you're welcome***

That first class was back in March. I kind of took a break from Yoga classes for a while because I was too busy with all of the other ones offered at the gym. When my friend Tanya started going with me to the gym, she mentioned that she wanted to try the yoga class. I was excited about taking one of Jim's classes because he had made such a lasting impression on me as a co-participant back in that first Saturday yoga class.

Here's what I absolutely love about Jim: you would never in a million years look at him and think "That guy's definitely a yoga instructor". A truck driver, maybe, but not a yoga instructor. I originally thought he was in his early sixties until Chrissy informed me that he was, in fact, 79 (go yoga!) He always wears a t-shirt bearing the name of some branch of the military (I usually like to make bets as to which one he'll wear each week), he still rocks the baggier jeans, and he has the fluffiest grey mullet you'd ever hope to see; it's like a wolf's fur and in weak moments I want to touch it. Jim also has the thickest, southerny South Jersey accent I've ever heard. Actually I'm not even sure if he's even from South Jersey...it could be West Virginia for all I know. The point is, it is the craziest, funniest voice to hear instructing you on yoga positions. For example: Explaining when and how to breathe is pretty much mandatory in all yoga classes; however, when Jim talks about breaths, he pronounces it like "bress" which sounds like breasts to my ears (and Tanya's, too. I'm not alone in the gutter). It's not uncommon for me to giggle like a second grader when it sounds like I'm hearing Jim say, "Now take two big breasts for this position. Good. Now two lil' breasts. And when yer takin' yer breasts, think about what yer feelin. You feel good? You feelin' some tightness anywhere? You'll loosin' up in time. Jus' keep on breathin"  I really do make great efforts to clear my mind of this, but I'll take one look at Tanya and just start shaking with silent laughter. I apologize for not being more mature about this, but honestly, when Jim speaks I half expect to look up and see him in a rocking chair, whittling a piece of wood while he calls out positions; I don't expect him to be all twisted up like a pretzel on the floor. He is also, hands down, the King of Similes. In every class of his that I've taken he's said, "You keep doin' these hip op'ner positions ever' week, and you'll be as happy and healthy as you was when you went on stage fer yer 8th grade graduation!" Just last night, he told us "Some o'these positions can be a challenge. Like when I was in high school an' I saw a perty girl that made my heart go pitter-pat. You just got to keep workin' at em and you'll git it. You do it regular, you'll be in full lotus by Christmas" I have a feeling that Jim is pretty much convinced that we'll all be using our feet to massage our heads by Christmas. I remain skeptical.

Then there's the Captain. The first time I met the Captain was actually not in yoga class. I was running the Couch to 5K program (the first of about eight failed attempts) on my favorite treadmill. Yes, I know it's pathetic to have a favorite machine but almost every regular at the gym has a favorite machine of some kind. Spin people are the worst, though. If you're a newbie who hops on a regular's bike...holy hannah, it's practically a turf war. Anyway, I was running on my favorite treadmill by the back wall when I looked over and saw this old man twisted backwards on the floor right next to my machine. First of all, it takes a very brave or foolish person to lie right next to any machine that I'm stampeding on. I can't even begin to tell you the number of times I've knocked my phone, ipod, keys, or a magazine off of those machines. Secondly, it's a little disconcerting to see someone that age be that flexible all up close and personal (I know, I'm a terrible ageist). I kept watching him and stumbling off of the belt.

When I went to my first Jim class, I was completely unsurprised to see my treadmill yogi, or Captain as he is referred to by Jim. I have no idea why the Captain is the Captain. Frankly, I don't care. I wish there were more characters in my classes like that. Lucas occasionally calls me Corn on the Cob, but that moniker doesn't have as much finesse as Captain. The Captain and Jim have a cute, friendly banter that they keep up via yoga poses. For example, while my pelvis is screaming at me during the basic 'hip op'ner' positions, Jim will comment, "You can stay in this position...or if you're like the Captain, here, you can bend yer whole body forward and twist yer hands behind yer back. Captain always likes to out-twist me!" The Captain could probably twist himself into a small bundle that could fit into the back pocket of my jeans if he wanted to. He has the flexibility of a 12 year old Romanian gymnast, but I'm sure he's about 200 years old.

I respect the calm, easy pace of yoga (and especially Jim's yoga) but I don't think we're going to be besties until I lose Jude (Jude being my largest fat roll and thus named because every time I look down it's like "Heeey..." Still there). Balance and stomach gut do not play well together. I can squeeze my "abs" in as much as I want but I almost always tip over in class. I hate tipping for the very obvious reason that I do not wish to draw any more comparisons to other large mammals than is necessary (which is why I absolutely refuse to shop at Dress Barn, as well. I mean, seriously? Barn?). When I do tip, I have the most un-yoga slew of words flood silently out of my brain and aimed at any other person who dares to look balanced and graceful; usually the Captain. Also, it's kind of difficult for me to be quiet for an entire hour. In my other classes, I'm a bit of a chatterbox and giggler. I have a very "we're all in this together, guys" attitude towards my other classmates, so I befriend as many of them as I can. So when I go to yoga and sit on my own mat, in my own silent space, I get antsy and start mentally reciting recipes in my head. But because it was my Biggest Loser Yoga DVD that helped jumpstart all of this, I will keep attending the yoga class and look forward to the day when I will no longer be weighed down but will stand with balance, strength, and grace.

And big breasts, of course.

Namaste