No Man Is An Island: Yoga For Dummies

I once played football. Not well, mind you. But I wasn’t a quitter no matter how bad it got.

But that was a long, long time ago. Reflecting back, it was a dangerous form of exercise. Especially the way I played.

These days I can get my coffee at a reduced price at McDonald’s….and I don’t even have to show them my ID. Age has dictated other ways to engage in exercise. My exercise of choice has been walking. But this week I decided to branch out and try something new.

Yoga.

Faced with cancelling the spring yoga class at the college, I decided instead to become the tenth member of the class. That surprised, dare I say stunned my wife, who has long been an advocate for the touchy, feely far eastern way of stretching.

Last night was my first class.

There were other people my age. And there were other men. But there were no other men my age.

The instructor began the class by playing a video of a grassy field full of lilacs and I believe she used some incense in the room, because I smelled lilacs, but then that could have just been the power of suggestion. She asked us to sit, cross-legged, looking towards her with our backs straight. I should mention at this point, I’ve had two back surgeries so her posture was infinitely better than my own.

She wanted us to start the night on a positive asking us to tell the class about the best aspect of our day.

Something we ate…or a great moment from our workday. I had a mighty fine bowl of chili at midday, but did not feel compelled to share my love for lunch.

Most of the students mentioned how they were so happy to be done with math for the day. Others talked about their boyfriends and their puppy dogs. I said I was grateful we were inching closer to the weekend. No one seemed to agree.

Then the stretching and churning began. There were some poses that required me to stand on one leg. That didn’t work. I made the mistake of being in the front row and my younger colleagues thought it humorous that I kept falling to one side or the other.

After about the third pose, I felt a ripple in my stomach. It was a twinge that resulted in a sort of bubbling sound coming from my lower abdomen.

My lunch choice was now becoming an issue.

Then we sat on our mats and started to stretch from one side to the other. The instructor said it was a proven way to help digestion. I started to sweat at the suggestion. Yes, it was clear I was committed to digestion.

Then we got to “down dog.”

Down dog is when you elevate your posterior while burying your head into your mat.

I’ve heard it said, “No man is an island.”

But I can tell you my friend, it was obvious, through the movement of mats away from my position, that I was quickly becoming an island. A lonely island in the middle of the large classroom without other close by land masses.

Even the incense was overwhelmed.

At that moment, God intervened. He shut off the power to the college and the instructor was forced to stop class and move willing classmates out the door and into the fresh air of the parking lot. They moved quickly.

The instructor seemed impressed with my first attempt at yoga saying, “My interpretation of the down dog was memorable.”

Engineers were dispatched and they did not lay blame on me for the power outage. Ironically, I continued to generate enough gas to light a small city.

I think I will return next week for my second yoga class.

I’m not a quitter.