I Didn’t Fart at Yoga

There it is folks, my big coup for the day.  This is actually a step up; a specific mission if you will.  Many days my goal is to get my bra on correctly or to NOT stab someone in the hand with a spoon.

I’ve been trying to get back into health and exercise for a while now and it seems to be one step forward, eighteen back.  My back finally feels stronger.  I would exercise and then fade back into middle-aged obscurity and insecurity.  I’m too heavy.  I’m too old.  I’m too busy.  I’m in too much pain.  I’m tired.  There are days I feel like  I’m sinking into some sort of oblivion which is tantamount to hiding from something; though damned if I know what.

I have insecurities just like anyone else.  They typically are held at bay every time except THAT time; then it’s a free for all of emotional minions messing with my perception of everything including the size of my ass and my sudden ability to trip over the pattern in a carpet.

The cure for this?  Yoga.  Of course.  Something in which I need balance and strength during a time that I feel clumsy and inept.  Great idea.  Best idea I’ve EVER had.

So there I am in a class with no one I know.  I felt like I was walking into freshman year all over again.   There was the typical cast of yoga class characters.  The overachiever, the rebel, the to be bride (there’s always one trying to zen the hell up for the upcoming nuptials) , the friendly one, the expert on all she surveys, and then me.  I still have the same M.O. that I’ve always had.  You show me yours first and then maybe I’ll open up.  So I was quiet as I typically am in a situation where I know no one.

For the first time in almost a year, I felt strong.  I felt determined to see it through and not give into the predatory fears/voice that whisper salacious insults in your ear when you’re not feeling beautiful.  I was determined to not fall on my face.

If there are any yoga devotees reading this, you know that yoga can put you in some fairly compromising positions.  I looked to my right and saw the expert and the rebel were the picture of yoga perfection.  The bride was apparently envisioning herself in her gown or her wedding night as her face was the portrait of rapture.  The friendly one just smiled happily.  And I prayed I wouldn’t fart.

There it is.  That was my all holy aspiration for the day.

In my mind, I had come this far.  A year in the making; a year filled with doctor appointments and pain killers and anti-inflammatory medication, of chiropractor appointments (thank you Dr. Vinnie), and MRI’s and X-rays, and a lot of tears and doubts and a painted smile on my face to hide the pain.

But I did it.  Or more specifically I did not do it.  I did not fart at yoga.

I

AM

A

ROCK

STAR

 

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2 thoughts on “I Didn’t Fart at Yoga

  1. I love this! You are a rock star! I am sure I would have totally let one slip. As a fellow mom, you know our bodies are not our own after we have kids, I am proud of you woman.

    Like

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