Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Afartrimudra.

I am really enjoying my yoga class. It’s an intermediate class, which is probably slightly too advanced for me, but I’m beyond the beginner level, so there I am.

I’ve had to miss the last two weeks because I’ve been on the road so much, so it was a bit of a shock to get back into it last night. Some of the poses are challenging because of my lack of strength and excess of flesh.

The instructor (yogi?) is a late-40-ish lady who you would never suspect by looking at her that she could tie herself into a sheepshank. She’s not one of those lean, ½ A-cup yoga ladies who look like they only eat watercress and cranberries, but a regular schoolteacher-looking lady. She’s very kind, calm and encouraging, and I like listening to her.

Sometimes her advice seems a little flaky. Whatever point she’s trying to make is always woven into a “That’s what yoga’s all about.” Breathing is what yoga’s all about. Stretching is what yoga’s all about. Not pushing your body too far is what yoga’s all about. Convee-nient.

Basically, I live in fear of audibly farting during class. No – not just audibly, but loudly farting. When I used to go to community school yoga classes, one night, someone ripped a super loud fart and it was totally humiliating. Um, for him or her. Not for me. I mean, I empathized with how embarrassing that would be, but I mostly thought it was funny. Jackie, however, who was also taking the class with me, was inconsolable. She still laughs when it’s brought up.

The thing is, I don’t even need to fart all that much when I go to yoga. I’m not usually so inclined (probably because for the entire day I mindfully abstain from all food that might ferment in my plumbing). Still, it’s a distracting concern. You’re there, stretching and moving about and bending over in compromising positions.

Anyway, with this in mind, I go to yoga class, and what happens on the very first night, but during a very quiet and calm cool-down period (savasana), some dude in front of Jackie treats us all to a loud and painful-sounding fart. It’s difficult to focus on the sound of your own breath when your throat has closed over in an effort to stifle a guffaw. I thought Jackie was going to give herself a umbilical hernia when we talked about it after class.

The instructor was walking amongst us at the time, directing our cool-down, and I swear, I expected her to say, “Voiding gas from one’s bowels is what yoga’s all about.”

4 comments:

Holly said...

You know, maybe that is what Yoga is about.

In with the good air; Out with the bad...

mel said...

I hate to say this about a post about gas, but that may be your funniest post ever. I guess I really am an eight year old at heart.

Catherine said...

Yeah, Darcy asked me how old I was at the theatre yesterday when we were discussing this subject. So I can go low-brow: big deal.

And yes, Holls, I agree, and I've said it before: a good motto to live by IS "better out than in."

Holly said...

Fantastic Mr. Fox has never steered me wrong.

And, yes, I agree. Your funniest post, with the possible exception of that wonderful ant hate letter from last year.

And I consider myself pretty damned high-brow thank you. There is nothing low brow about fart humour. Even the Queen probably chuckles at such things - she IS British, after all.

Thanks for the thesis, btw, it saved my ass!

Miss you!