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Kathryn Mayer • Writing Out Loud

I write stuff down. writer • humorist • activist

Waiting to exhale on the yoga mat

July 26, 2017 by Kate Mayer 7 Comments

Doing everything wrong at yogaShe had both her hands on my ass and was applying firm, steady pressure, and I ain’t gonna lie: I liked it. I was lost in the moment and it felt great. Until she opened her mouth. And sound came out.

“Now look at Kate –“ she announced, with a mean teacher voice to the entire class of mostly women and the one or two hairy dudes with an aversion to shirts, shaving, and apparently deodorant.

“Come out of your pose – everyone but Kate – and come here. Gather ‘round. Closer people. Closer. Look at her. See her.”

See my what? Blood rushed to my head and finding no way out, pooled in my ears, my sinuses, my eyes – swirling and circling like a toilet that just keeps running.

What are they looking at?

My ass seemed to be the primary focus of the enclosing circle of sweaty yogis. My ass, high in the sky, tailbone to the clouds as they say in la-la-land, clenching though, trying desperately not to fart on cue. From any hole.

I had been a regular at yoga for only a few months, week after week in an effort to lose the babyfat that was probably 10, 12, maybe 15 years old.

It was working.

A yogi celebrates when everything she does wrong goes rightAt least in a handstand. With the assist of a wall, and perhaps a friend heaving my legs up the wall, and another friend holding my ankles to the wall, I was awesome.

In a handstand, all my body parts migrate back from whence they came. My ass was high and tight, my face had an involuntary, pain-free immediate lift, my stomach flowed like a lava-lamp up to where my breasts used to be, giving me both a boob job and tummy tuck, something I would never do in reality, but fully enjoying in the moment, as yogis like to say.

The illusion, if even for only a few seconds, upside down, with a face like an engorged tick, at least my bra was filled with more than memoryfoam.

Gravity is indeed my friend.

So I was at yoga to try and tame my body. I didn’t buy the whole mind-body-spirit- angle; I was strictly there for the body part. Especially with this particular teacher, who was clearly missing the spirit element.

She was mean, or as mean as a yoga teacher can be and still claim to be Kripalu certified – and after months and months of regular mat work – I was still the example, the constant, shining example, of what not to do, and she wasn’t afraid to point it out.

Every Wednesday – and sometimes on Saturday, I begrudgingly climbed the stairs of our vintage town hall, imaging my name etched on the mural of Who’s Who town celebrities, before entering parks and rec yoga in the famous Alexandria room, hiding someplace in the back, incognito hopefully, near an exit.

While people sat and silently “centered,” I remembered being there for happier occasions: the floor sticky from Rotary club pancake breakfasts, or clean and shiny for ballroom dancing, or music blaring at bar mitzvahs, or booze flowing for Newtown Newcomers or working women – happier times, a million years ago, instead of right then and there, in the moment, on the mat, being present with people who treated yoga like a pilgrimage – a lifestyle, a religion.

I, however, did not, which probably explains why the teacher would pull everyone out of their poses and have the entire class of those younger, fitter, hipper than this mom-of-four gather round me and my mat, to observe me up close and personal, and be the example of what not to do. The list was relentless.

Bad alignment.

Poor arm strength.

Restrictive hip flexers.

Tight toes.

Clenched jaw.

Locked knees.

Hyper elbows.

Unforgiving sitz bones.

Shrugged shoulders.

Weak ankles.

Excessive flatulence.

I’m joking about that last one, but not really. You get the picture.

I’m sure she would have said my mind’s eye was closed if she had the vision or opportunity.

They closed in around me, and the teacher, Nancy was her name, circled me like a used car on the side of the road. With a lot of miles, blown transmission, and bald tires. Looking for something to like. Anything.

I breathed in. I breathed out. In and out. The toilet still swirling in my ears, threatening to overflow at any moment.

“See how her spine is straight, hands relaxed, buttocks reaching toward the sky? She’s perfect. Do this. Be like Kate. Everyone back on your mat, and don’t forget to breathe.”

I exhaled. Then inhaled. And on the exhale, I thanked the universe above for my beautiful buttocks and that one ounce of unexpected, long overdue, much appreciated praise.

*

I was proud to read this essay at the Newtown Arts Festival in front of friendly locals, some of whom, were actually in this class with me when this happened all those years ago.

https://kathrynmayer.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/yoga.mp4

Left behind: college kid needs childhood stuffed animals
Paying someone to touch me

Comments

  1. Gabi Coatsworh says

    July 26, 2017 at 9:51 am

    Kate, you paint a perfect picture. How I sympathized when you were waiting to be criticized, how happy I was when she praised you, and how I love the used car analogy. Just glad she didn’t kick your tires ?

    Reply
    • Kate Mayer says

      July 26, 2017 at 12:38 pm

      I may be a used car, but I got plenty of miles left to go!

      Reply
  2. Karen DeBonis says

    July 28, 2017 at 8:40 am

    What a great story Kate! And kudos to you for being persistent in your efforts, and getting that recognition!

    Reply
    • Kate Mayer says

      July 28, 2017 at 8:57 am

      headed to a class right now! Thankfully, still at it. Still doing many things wrong, but a few more right with a kind teacher! Thx for the read!

      Reply
  3. Laurie Stone says

    July 28, 2017 at 12:58 pm

    Absolutely hilarious and that teacher should lose her yoga license — Kripulu-trained or not!

    Reply
  4. Wendy says

    July 28, 2017 at 12:59 pm

    Well I’m just so happy you didn’t give up. Shame on her for making a negative example of you. It’s ok to point out how a pose can go from good to fabulous , but I don’t like the term “doing it wrong in yoga”because quite honestly if it feels good in your body then you’re doing it just right!
    Personally I’m glad she gave you reason to look for another teacher… I certainly gained from her loss!
    Xoxo
    PS you’re a badass yogi!???

    Reply

Trackbacks

  1. Goals for the new year look a lot like the goals for last year says:
    January 31, 2019 at 10:30 pm

    […] Yoga. Once a week. Twice if I can make it. Good for the ass, heart, and […]

    Reply

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About Kathryn Mayer

Kathryn Mayer

An irreverent storyteller with a foul mouth and big heart, Kathryn Mayer (aka Kathy and/or Kate) is a writer, humorist, and (former) activist writing out loud with humor and grace about little life moments with big ripples, including the space between parenting and aging parents, social issues, angsty reflections of midlife, and, sigh, gun humpers. Still. Sometimes a big deal, sometimes not Mayer is a national award-winning columnist, according to the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, and her essays have been recognized as Voice of … Read More Here...

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