Since more than a month now, I have started going for Yoga classes on Fridays. I used to go for yoga once a week at San Diego State with Karen and then I stopped after I moved to OC. It could be one of the hundred things I try when I get bored of myself, or it could be a lasting thing, I don’t know. But the experience so far has been good. I feel more supple when I stretch because strength training can leave me with aching tense muscles, and I know I don’t stretch every day. The first day that I walked in, everybody’s expression was like “Hey! You are Indian! You got this!” I was feeling all gung ho about it. I had chosen to ignore the fact that I hadn’t done a dot of yoga in almost 3 years, not counting the 10 min of stretching when I used to learn belly dancing. We started with basic breathing techniques and stretching and I beamed with the thought, yes, I really got this. And that’s when things went downhill.
“Oh my God! My wrists are going to snap! There is zero strength.”
“Why the hell are my feet and palms so small! Such less square footage! Downward dog… Arrggghh. It’s like making a Honda Civic balance itself on skinny cycle tyres.”
“Don’t give up! Don’t give up! Fine, one knee down.”
“PB, keep breathing! You are killing yourself!”
Nisha, having a lot of experience with yoga, had explained the difference between Hathaflow and Vinyasa and to my utter horror, my teacher makes us practice Vinyasa for 60% of the class. I have no sense of direction or side. With her left and rights and turning towards the front, I end up working out the same side twice and then I feel imbalanced. She has to tell us/me to not look at her with anger and smile in her delightful sing-song East-European accent. “Daunt look at mi wid angerrr. Smyle everrrybaady!”
Yet I was managing things just fine. Till a cute guy joined the class two Fridays ago. He looked at me and smiled and I so did not want him to see me contort myself in grotesque shapes with pain writ across my face.
By the end of the first class though, everybody’s ‘You got this!” look had turned into utter disappointment. It’s okay. I am used to that expression. Crushing hopes is a hobby of mine!