Is Yoga for knobs?

 

Is Yoga for Knobs?

 

As part of my New Years resolution, I promised myself that I would Relax more.

Those who know me personally could feasibly describe me as being somewhat ‘highly strung’.

I also made a vow to do more exercise. I can’t figure out if this is a contradiction or not?

Some ‘gym’ people swear that exercise actually helps them to relax. Other even stranger people say exercise actually IS relaxing.

But then it occurred to me.. ‘A ha…..I’ll do yoga!’. None of the sweaty, red faced, out of breath, painful stuff. Just me being graceful and dignified, whilst sporting some of the expensive exercise clothing I brought myself when I intended to start running (snort).

After all, we’ve all seen the super hot A listers who claim that the secret to their perfect bodies is yoga. (I have a sneaky suspicion they also forego food and do a LOT of cardio, but I have chosen to ignore this part).

I actually used to do quite a bit of it a few years ago – but I never actually joined a class. Just used the occasional dvd or made it up i.e 'did some stretches'.

So, in order to try and take it more seriously I decided to attend a class. One with a proper instructor, where the session lasts longer than my usual 8 minutes (including ‘warm up’ and ‘cool down’).

Unfortunately it didn’t pan out quite as I had hoped. I could talk about the ‘experience’ all day, but I know you don’t have that long so I’ve gone with bullet points instead:

-          There was a slightly chunky instructor – not great advertising I thought. A bit like a shampoo advertised by Sinead O Connor. Said her name was Debs. She had very big teeth, and a slightly dazed expression. Cannabis I wondered? Maybe I should become a yoga instructor and become a chilled out kind of girl? Then again, probably not.

 

-          The other women (and one man) in the class all looked rich. They brought their own snazzy mats as if to say ‘look at me, I am so bloody Zen it hurts’. Never mind that the mats were probably made by an overworked, under paid,  5 year old in kazikstan. Not to mention their overpriced yoga clothes that seemed distinctly at odds with the actual history of yoga.

As far as I’m aware the Indian founders didn’t wear Nike or sweaty Betty in order to improve their technique.

 

-          The teacher announced she was ‘doing something different’ in todays class, and decided to partner us up – 'oh for fu&*s sake'. I looked around desperately as the women all paired up with friends. It was just like being at school. I ended up with the (only) man called Jed, who was apparently suffering from a knee injury. Which rather begged the question, why was he here? The instructor made us sit back to back and align ourselves with each others spines. 

 ‘Acknowledge the possible discomfort of being in such close contact with another body’ She said breathily. ‘Then blow it out’.

I was seriously contemplating getting up and leaving, but have never really been one to create a scene.

 

-          ‘Now, focus on your everyday breath’ the instructor continued.

Every day breath? Was there any other kind?

 

When would someone ever say ‘’That’s lovely breathing you’re doing there Sian''….

’’Oh this old thing…this is just my every day breath. I do it all the time, wait until you hear the special stuff’’.

I giggled to myself and then immediately stopped as Debs caught my eye.

-          So I continued on, both breathing, and wishing I were somewhere else entirely. Was this really going to make me body beautiful? O

ver the course of the next hour, we were made to get into various positions, including one where Jed had do the ‘child pose’ which essentially involved curling up in a ball in the floor. Then horror of horrors, the instructor made the partners (i.e me) sit on them and stretch back so that We were lying back to front over the top of them. Enough was enough, I stood frozen with fear. My husband doesn't get this level of intimacy. Why would I give it to dodgy knees Jed?

‘Are you okay?’ the instructor asked.

‘I don’t want to squash him’ I admitted (as the rich bit&^es sniggered).

‘You won’t. Our bodies our designed to balance in perfect harmony’

I thought I heard Jed mutter something about ‘bloody hoping so’, but it was difficult to tell as his face was squashed into his knees.

Oh well, I thought. His knee is injured anyway, what’s a further sprain. I slowly sat down on him and tried to ensure that I kept some of my weight on my feet until the last minute, then slowly but entirely ungracefully, I flopped back.

‘Ouch’ exhaled Jeff.

‘Sorry’ I said, as my face turned crimson.

‘That’s great’ said the instructor. ‘Now take your time to relax, and feel your partners breath. Try and get it in unison with your own’

I concentrated hard, but was unable to detect even a murmur of breath from Jed. Had I killed him?

After an agonising 2 minutes for both of us, we were allowed to stand up and do some final stretching before the class finished. I avoided eye contact with Jed, but confirmed he was still alive, albeit wincing slightly.

-          The class finished with everyone sitting cross legged and roaring like lions. I assumed when the instructor asked us to do it, that most people wouldn’t, or if they did, it would be quietly. I was wrong. They went for it with major enthusiasm.

‘Roooaaaaaarrrrr’’ said the lady next to me.

'Grrrr.....Roooooaaaaarggghhh’ shouted Jed. (I swear this was followed by a fart).

I felt about as comfortable as watching my grandparents snogging, and they are both dead.

The class finally finished and I breathed a massive sigh of relief (using my 'special' breath).

I observed my body in the large mirror. Definitely a tiny bit thinner, and I was stood up taller, but was it worth it?

Was I more relaxed?

No.

In fact, it had been one of the most stressful events of my life.

However, not one to give up, I’m going to try Pilates next.

I’ll let you know how I get on. Fingers crossed I don't see Jed there on crutches.