The Scent of Yoga

When I walked into my gym Saturday morning, I noticed there were spaces available for the morning yoga class.  Feeling the need for a challenge and maybe a little relaxation to boot, I scribbled my name on the class list.  Since I’ve never taken a class at my gym, I asked the gym employee what I needed to do.  “Do you have a mat?” he inquired.  Obviously noticing that I did not have the required equipment, he quickly instructed me to stand in line so that I could grab one of the extra yoga mats offered in the yoga room.  Obeying his directions and beginning to feel a little nervous about participating in this class of ancient proportions, I began chatting with the sweet older lady who was standing in front of me.  With her personal mat toted in a cute quilted bag, she gave me the one-over with an expression on her face that reminded me of the first time my grandma saw me wearing a mini-skirt.  And in that one quick glance, it was apparent to her that I might not be “yoga material.”  As a result, she was very generous with her tips and warnings.  I listened carefully, especially noting her last comment, “There is no competition in the yoga room.  You will not be judged.  Just do the best you can.”  Uh-huh.  Right.  Just you wait, grandma.  You haven’t seen the likes of me yet.

Briskly, I walked into the room and snatched an extra yoga mat.  I spread it out next to Friendly Line Lady and mimicked her sitting with her legs crossed and her hands on her knees.  Man, it’s serious business in here, I thought.  No one was talking.  No one was smiling.  In fact, everyone had their eyes closed.  Oh boy, what have I gotten myself into?  Before I could make a quick exit, our instructor entered the room and the sounds of Asian music infiltrated with trickling water filled the room.  Great.  Now I have to use the bathroom.  I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to leave.  So I guess I’m just going to have to hold it.  Namaste.

The class started uneventfully with lots of breathing called “ujjayi breathing.”  Helpful Yoga Instructor told us to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth, but with one stipulation…keep your mouth closed.  Do what?  I quickly looked around the room to see if I heard that description correctly.  Yup, apparently I had.  So I awkwardly complied, and I’m pretty sure I sounded like a baby mountain goat.

child's pose

The class slowly progressed, and I was able to keep up with all of the twisty movements without injury to self or others.  But  trouble entered my body, mind and spirit when Head Yoga Mama invited us to ”celebrate the movement of our spine” as she led us into a position that contorted our bodies into a pretzel-like shape reminiscent of a good old-fashioned game of Twister.  We were invited to hold this position for 8 ujjayi breaths which, by the way, I found a little counterproductive since I was holding my breath so as not to fall over onto Friendly Line Lady.  After my eighth mountain goat breath, we unfolded ourselves so we could “find our center” in child’s pose.  Regaining my confidence in this simple pose, I began to feel at peace…that is, until I inhaled for the first time.  With my forehead resting on and my nose just centimeters from my black borrowed mat, my anxiety level skyrocketed like a redneck’s fireworks on the 4th of July.  The stench wafting from this piece of public PVC was an obtrusive reminder that large amounts of sweat, potentially deadly bacteria and possibly the virus that causes pink eye were covering my mat.  The only good thing that came from my mini panic attack was my breathing.  Very ujjayi and absolutely goat-like.

Our class continued as Head Yoga Mama “invited us” to challenge ourselves with various poses that I’m convinced are used to train potential Cirque du Soleil artists.  I did take mental note of some of the comments made by my nice yoga teacher.  These were my favorites:

• Tension is good; pain is bad.  (I wondered how she felt about loss of consciousness.)
• Contract your core.  We don’t want this to turn into Tackle Yoga.  (I wonder if she heard me respond with a quiet Hook ‘Em Horns.)
• Open up your hips, ladies.  (I don’t know why but this one made me giggle.)

corpse pose

Finally we made it to the cool down portion of our torture time.  Our teacher invited us to get into the “corpse pose.”  Yes, the “corpse pose.”  Really?  Out of all the words to describe “lay on your back,” how in the world did the yoga gurus decide that “corpse pose” captured the essence of that move?  To make sure I wasn’t missing anything, I sneaked a peek at Grandma Yoga next to me.  She was out!  I knew she wasn’t taking the meaning of our corpse pose literally because she was doing some pretty serious ujjayi breathing.  You go, girl!  As I laid on my mat of microbial growth, our instructor made one more comment that left me wondering.  In an extremely calm and peaceful tone of voice, she invited us to “focus on the scent of gardenia" which caused the following thought process in my heightened state of clarity:

a. Do not laugh out loud.  These ladies are strong and could take you.

b. I’m not a fan of gardenias, but I’d be happy to focus on the scent of chocolate chip cookies.  Mmmmm, maybe I should make a batch when I get home.

c. Um, Happy Yoga Mama, I invite you to smell my mat and then we'll talk.