Alternative title: I’m on the balls of my feet, my arms are shaking, my face is red, my butt is in the air and I’m trying not to fart…because let’s face it, trusting a fart in Downward-Facing dog when your guts feel knotted is probably not the wisest of choices…Especially now you’re on a mostly fruit and veggie based diet.
“You utter pillock” my brain mumbles as we move into Bhujangasana.
“Shush I’m concentrating…” I mutter, thinking of my breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
“Concentrating? On what?! Clenching your butt cheeks together so you don’t guff isn’t part of this game you know…In the words of Frozen ‘let it go‘…and if you shart we can leave early and do what we do best…Namely whinging about that belly podge while shoving your face into a tub of triple chocolate ice-cream”.
My brain is so supportive. Turd-bag.
Sharting to get out of Yoga was not an option…Not because I suddenly felt all zen with one foot in the air and the other squished right under my backside, oh no, but because I’d told everyone who would bloody listen that I was going to attend (and finish) this class. There was no way I was going to be explaining to people the very next day that I didn’t manage the whole hour and a half because I’d pooped in my pants. It just wasn’t going to happen.
What did happen though…Was that I got smashed in the mush with the glaring reality of me missing a few months of classes; the simplest of moves made my muscles tremble, my breathing technique was all out of whack and balancing?…Shit. The. Bed. Trying any of the poses that relied heavily on balance resulted in me getting a gob full of my trusty yoga mat.
I’m lucky that my instructor picked me up every time I fell.
I’m very lucky that the lass on the mat next to me was just as clumsy as I am…There would invariably be an “oh holy balls” as one or both of us toppled out of a move, followed by a quick “we got this shit!” re-group. We totally didn’t get that shit as the next move would be like history repeating itself.
The meditation exercise left me teetering on the edge of sleep…inhale, exhale, focus on your fingers, focus on your thumbs, inhale, exhale, rinse, repeat. Limbs that had protested their way through the poses were now relaxing, unwinding, threatening me with cramp should I dare to wake them. But wake them I did. I think the owner’s of the community centre would be very annoyed to open the building in the morning to find me snoring and drooling away…And probably smelling terribly of body odour by that point given the amount of sweat I’d produced just battling to stay balanced on one leg.
It would be a rude awakening for all concerned as I imagine it would be go along the lines of “which utter moron left this sweaty sod in here, the whole place stinks of pit stains and butt! Get the Febreze, no don’t open the windows as it’s minus goodness knows what, just get the damned air freshener…And throw this smelly git into the carpark!”
Ah well…Class is scheduled for the same time next week…Provided I’ve recovered!
So folks, how do you stay motivated after a disastrous workout?