I raise my hand.
"Yes, Dave?" She asks.
"So, what's the good news?" I ask.
The class laughs as though I had said something extremely funny. As a 350 lb. middle-aged man in a class of twenty-somethings, my question was legitimate. There wasn't a shred of good news in what she just announced.
"Oh, and I want everyone to wear spandex so we can see how your body moves." She added almost as an afterthought.
My hand goes up again.
"I'm pretty sure that they don't make spandex in my size." I say.
She smiles. "Oh, don't be shy. We're all friends here. I'm sure you can find something suitable. There's no reason to feel embarrassed."
I can think of 350 reasons to be embarrassed. This was going to be one long semester.
The first day of class I arrive at the yoga studio clad in sweats. I wasn't able to find the required spandex, probably because I didn't look very hard. And by "very hard" what I mean is "at all".
The instructor was very pleasant and upbeat. Maybe she would take mercy on me and show me some leniency. This was not to be.
"You'll all need a yoga mat and foam roller." She says pointing to the shelves.
The mat is 1/2" thick and the size of a large postage stamp. There is no way I'm fitting on this thing.
I head to the back of the class.
"Let's have all the advanced students in the back and those new to yoga in front." She instructs.
Great. More good news. I head to the front of the class.
We lay our mats out and get down to business. First order of business: stretching.
"Keeping your legs straight, bend down and grab your toes." Is the first instruction.
Right. Keeping my legs straight, I bend down and grab my knees. I consider that a huge success.
I look around to see all the twenty-somethings grabbing their toes, even the chubby kid wearing bright green spandex.
I'm bathed in sweat after the stretching we did. I'm ready for a nap.
"Let's start with a basic yoga pose, the 'downward facing dog'. I find this pose is relaxing."
She demonstrates the pose, her fanny high in the air.
"Don't forget to breathe" she adds.
She lied. "Downward facing dog" is not in fact relaxing. It is torturous! Feet flat on the floor, bend at the waist and place your hands on the ground, fanny high in the air. The blood rushes to my head and I begin to see stars. I collapse after 10 seconds.
"What's wrong, Dave?" she asks. "Where's your 'downward facing dog'?"
"My downward dog died" I say.
She laughs as though I've said the funniest thing in the world.
"Let's move onto something fun" she says, "Grab a partner."
Great. I decide to get the humiliation over quickly and volunteer to go first.
"One of you will pose while the other spots you to make sure no one get hurt. We call this pose the 'plow'. Lay on your back with your hands out to your sides. Now lift your legs over your head. Your spotter can help you. Touch your feet on the floor above your head. This will stretch the muscles in your back."
From personal experience, don't try this pose if you are experiencing even remote gassiness. I don't need to elaborate, but the sound was impressive. I doubt that a fog horn could get any louder.
The torture went on for an hour and a half. I found myself twisted and turned like a pretzel. A chubby middle-aged pretzel.
"Excellent work today!" the instructor says with a huge smile. "You all did so well. Let's end where we began with a relaxing 'downward facing dog'."
Dutifully I keep my feet flat on the ground and bend at the waist, palms on the floor, fanny high in the air.
Giggles.
Why are there giggles? Why are the giggles turning to laughter? And then I feel a cold breeze around my fanny area.
"Uhh, dude" one of the students says with a grin. "You split your sweats."
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