Yoga Addiction

Okay...I guess I will admit that I am an addict. I am addicted to yoga.

It started around May when a friend of mine invited me to one of the classes at the gym we both work-out at. It was fun. Lots of weird stretching, but it was cool.

A couple of weeks later, I added another class. I was now doing yoga on Thursday and Saturday. Then my friend had to mention that there is one on Tuesday and would I be interested in going. So, I'd been doing yoga 3 times a week for quite a while when, late one night while looking on the computer, I find the schedule of classes from the chain of gyms I work-out at.

Recently, while on vacation, I went:
1. Monday at noon
2. Tuesday at 10:30
3. Tuesday again at 7:00 in the evening
4. Thursday at 6:00 (skipped Wednesday cause I was painting)
5. Saturday at 9:30

Guess it's better than smoking.

This past weekend Michael TOM and my parents went out of town. I missed yoga. I went to Barnes & Noble and bought a book about yoga while we were out of town because I was missing my "Yoga Time" from my Saturday class.

Yoga is a major stress release for me and the more I do it, the better I feel. Madonna does yoga, and she is in excellent shape! Granted, I can't bend like a pretzel and look at my own poo-hole, but that really isn't a major goal of mine.

People talk about how they do yoga for a couple of months, and then all of a sudden their bodies start doing things they never did before. No, I didn't wake up this morning and my body decided to grow boobs. But listen to what happened tonight at my recently added "Wednesday 6PM Yoga" class.

It was my 3rd time to try out this class on Wednesday night. I was running late and forgot my own yoga mat, so I got one of the "loaner" ones they have in the back closet of the classroom. Bright pink with white writing on it. What did the writing say? Okay, I'll tell you. It said, and I am not joking, "Poise Feminine Pads"...

So I took my oversized-pink tampon advertisement to the far corner of the class with hopes that no one would notice. It worked. I was a good 15 feet away from the other "yoga-ites" and closest to the mirror to check my poses. Or yoga "poises"...(sorry, couldn't resist! Stop groaning.)

I was doing really good! I was about 3 inches away from doing a full split! When the instructor had us lie on our backs and hoist our legs over our head, one of my feet actually touced the floor over my head! I was happy. My body started relaxing and I felt good.

Then the instructor had us sit in this weird "cross-legged/indian pose" while leaning over. The chime music paused for a couple of seconds. The entire room was silent. The instructor told us to "listen to our bodies and what our bodies are saying." That was when my butt decided to speak up. Yup! I ripped a "backside sneeze"..."toot"..."fart"...call it what you will.

Memories of me farting in front of "Tandra - the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader" when I was 18 flashed before me.

I opened one eye and could tell by the jiggling of the bodies in the room that most everyone was trying to stifle their giggles.

After class, I walked my red-faced self with my "Pink Poise Pad" to the closet and would not make eye-contact with anyone.

Suppose I will no longer be attending Wednesday yoga.

I know I will have a nightmare tonight about going to yoga class and my pad will have writing on it that will say, "Bean-O...for yoga with no gas."