Namaste to the holiday

This Easter holiday many people are spending time with family, dying egg shells and various body parts delightful pastels or just running outside of their homes in the shock of an earthquake (at least anyone from Baja California to Sacramento).

I decided to finally exercise my physical and spiritual self by going to a much overdue yoga class. In all reality, I had forgotten that it was bunny day and was overjoyed to see that my class wasn't canceled.

I was a bit nervous after missing class for months due to poor excuses and staying much too comfy in bed well past the waking hour. Muscles begin to atrophy and will power gets soft if not exercised. My usual Sunday activity is more similar to the picture below.

Mostly, I hate being that person who can't just balance on one foot with their heel tucked neatly above the kneecap like some sort of heron. I find it disrupts everyone’s focus when I can’t stop swearing under my breath as I flail wildly. (Similar to the picture below, but without the scenery)

I had determined that this wasn’t going to be one of those sessions. Instead it turned out to be much more uncomfortable in a variety of ways.

It’s advantageous to show up early for most things, but not when you have to take the initiative to be the first mat on the floor. Often that's the person that has to be told their facing the wrong wall.

It’s also courteous to go to the front of the room, but that always means the entire room watches your feeble attempts of downward-facing dog.

I chose to hover near the cubbies where I sipped water, wishing that I would have brought my phone to at least pretend like I had pressing engagements to deal with. Instead I channeled the look of an awkward turtle.

I had already run out of stretches and people started looking at me funny for watching each new person walk in so intently. I settled on my mat, so not to draw attention. I got stuck in the front row.

There is that feeling that rests on the back of my neck when my back is to the door at a given establishment, especially bars. Not sure if I'm keeping an eye out for axe-wielding psychopaths or practicing for my future job as a bouncer.

The instructor showed up late.

I immediately worked out the aches and pains that had been plaguing me for weeks. My legs and arms shook like a jackhammer, but with every deep breath I felt more victorious.

Andreas led us through 20 minutes of meditation inviting everyone to focus on the gratitude for all of the people in our lives. I tried to stop thinking about the coat on sale that I would be going to purchase after class. It was a killer deal though.

Some guy started snoring loudly in the middle of the room affirming that my meditations weren’t all that bad. At least I was still conscious.

Take that girl who did handstands when I can't even make my hands touch behind my back.

Andreas played a small organ that produced sound with accordion-like folds on the back. Chanting together in the warm room and hearing the words echo off the floorboards reminded me of hymns in church.

Closest thing to a spiritual service I had attended in a while. I thanked Andreas wholeheartedly after class for such an enlightening session on Easter.

I then realized I had forgotten to bring any cash to put in the donation box. My swift exit was the most agile move I made all day.

Next time I feel the need to punish my body and cry blood I will let you know

Spin was a bad choice. Punishing my body perched on a metal bike while attempting not to black-out is not my idea of a rewarding morning.

It is however sister's new past time. She wakes up at the crack of dawn to get in her exercise before work. She is kind enough to invite me every time.

This is a motivation that can not be aroused in my personal being. We have completely different exercise styles, which is not an issue for me. I go to yoga every week to lengthen, strengthen and be part of a community. She can hustle into the dark of morning and strap herself to a hard bike seat all she wants.

I decided spin at 10 a.m. was doable. Not sure why I thought a time change would make all the difference. Trying to push forward with "climb a hill" resistance still makes my heart want to explode just as much at 10 as it does at seven in the morning.

Dustin the spiky-haired spin teacher helped me adjust my bike as a first timer. He explained the general description of the work-out with a microphone already strapped to his face. I tried to look more informed and prepared than the other new girl next to me.

The bikes are cramped into a small concrete room facing a wall of mirrors. That way we can watch the pounds shed and the blood pour off our thick thighs. This adds the bonus of being able to watch the chunky girl in the corner sweat and feel immensely better about your own form.

Some skinny chick with Rambo arms glared at me from across the room. Not sure if she hated my sweatband or her life for coming to spin class.

Never thought I would ever be so motivated by a Ray J club mix. Dustin seemed extra pumped when the Mylie Cyrus remix and mouthed the words while he told us to "tap it up."

I started to hate him from deep within my burning core.

I tried to find the woman who kept woohooing upon every increase in resistance to give a death stare in the mirror. Instead I found the chunky girl again and we exchanged a mutual look of fear. It's the exerciser's friendly hello.

Tunnel vision brought the exits into focus. No way to sneak out and avoid a complete fail.

For all the times I complained as we moved from Warrior two into a twisted airplane, I repent. Yoga may cause my muscles to be weak and my knee to shake like a jackhammer, but it's nothing a bowl of great noodles can't solve.

By the time I could drown-out Dustin's voice and pedal to the rhythm of beat, the class was over.

I applauded myself for surviving and whispered threats to sister about taking her to see Bryan Kest at Wednesday night yoga. I almost fell asleep mid-step after his last class. I was on the stairs, so luckily that didn’t happen.

At home in the shower, I found a drinking glass I left full of a clear tea tree oil treatment. The glass had a lipstick mark on the rim. I almost slipped on my head from hysterical laughter. Sister does not want to know what I used that for.

Guess we can call it even.