I Hate Yoga

I love to exercise. The feeling of being physically fit, sweating, pushing myself to the limits. It's all a bit of a rush to me. I benefit both physically and mentally from a regular fitness regimen. I love the feeling of being charged with energy. As my muscles grow stronger and leaner, I become more confident in how I look and feel. When I am following an instructor, my mind is fully concentrating on keeping to the beat of the music, my form and pushing my body to the limits of endurance. I am a force to be reckoned with.

Recently I was talked into taking a yoga class. I have taken yoga classes in the past with no success. However, I like to think that I am open-minded and was assured that I would enjoy the class and the instructor. So, I went.


Not a good idea.

Where do I begin in describing the torture I went through during this class?


First, there was the peaceful and relaxing environment the instructor tried to create. He dimmed the lights to the studio, had everyone take their sneakers off, and proceeded to fill the room with the most god-awful music I have ever heard. There was soft instrumentals (which was nice by itself) with someone singing (I use that term lightly) in another language. It sounded like a cat yodelling. I found myself trying to figure out what language the song was in and questioning why the vocals were necessary at all. My ears felt like they were going to bleed and my mind was tense.

OK, I said, keep an open mind and move on. After all, the benefits of yoga has been tauted for centuries. Who was I to question? Just relax and go with the flow.

Next the instructor began to direct us into poses, his voice was soft and calm, making it difficult to hear him with the poor cat howling away. I squinted my eyes in the darkened room to see what I was supposed to be doing.

We started with simply standing and breathing. Hmmm, I thought, I can do this waiting at the checkout. I know how to stand and breathe. Why is the instructor making such a big deal about that and how is this going to get my body in shape?

After what seemed like forever, the instructor began to direct the class to several different stretches, telling us to focus on our breathing. Breathing, yeah, got it. Inhale. Exhale. I began to think about the idiot that cut me off on the drive to the studio. The instructor's voice began to irritate me.

The next series of poses can only be described as pretzel-ish. "Sit, legs extended. Bring your right leg over your left leg, bending your right knee and placing your right foot on the floor." Right. Left. Right. Right. I squint around to try and follow another student. OK, I think I got it. "Now twist your body to the right, placing your left elbow on the right side of the right knee." Whoah. Slow down now. That's right, right left right. I look around. No. Try again. Left, right, right, right. Wrong. "Now place your right hand on the floor and look over your right shoulder."

You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around. I began chuckle. This was not going to work.

"And now we will begin our final relaxation." Great. Anyone who knows me also knows that I am not the relaxing type. But, I am going to try.

So, I lay on the floor and stretch out my body. The instructor continues to remind us to breathe, droning on in his soft, whimpy way about inhaling and exhaling, breathing into the core, blah, blah, blah... I find myself hyperventillating. Soon I am focusing on resisting running out of the room, screaming, "Shut up! Shut up!"

Not a moment too soon, the instructor bows and says "Namaste" and it is all over. I look around. Everyone else seems to have a trance-like expression and they are moving very slowly. I, on the other hand, have the look of a crazed-woman. I rush to the door, pushing the zombie-people out of my way.

What was I thinking?! Others may benefit from a quieter mind and body. I need energy and stress to feel alive.

When I walked in the door, my husband took one look at me, and said, "I guess you won't be doing yoga again." I guess he's right.