I mention (in my newly updated “Meet Jenn” section — gah that thing was outdated) how much I love yoga these days. My friend Kim took me to my first yoga class nearly a year ago. I went in her office at work one day and shut the door so I could lay down in the floor and stretch my hands over my head in order to catch my breath. I was having my first full-blown panic attack. (Side note — this was old job. Exhibit A as to why I’m no longer there). I had no idea at the time what was happening — but after seeing some professionals and talking to Kim some more, she recommended I try yoga with her to get a little more zen in my life.
Now, I’m a runner. Like real exercise. I don’t need to participate in yoga, aka adult nap-time. But alas, I went with Kim to Sanctuary Yoga in Green Hills. This guy was teaching who I had been warned was easy on the eyes. (I may have blogged about this before now, I realize, as I typed that). Anywho.
It was clear real quick that there would be no napping. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing and was POURING sweat about 15 minutes in. This stuff is legit. So soon after, I joined the YMCA and started going to yoga regularly.
Now, I’ve got my Dad doing yoga and he’s got my Mom doing yoga and we’re just a bunch of dang yogis. I.LOVE.YOGA! So much.
Since taking yoga, I’ve only had a couple of teachers who really fit the stereotype I had about yoga. I want to workout and get out of my head. I don’t need to om om om om and ground my roots into mother earth, per se. But every now and then, you come across and little hippy dippy earth muffin.
We had a sub at yoga class recently. I won’t tell you which one — but you could probably figure it out if you know me. So, this guy comes in. First thing he does is make us turn away from the mirrors, so we don’t see and judge ourselves. Oh good — this is going to be rich.
He also was wearing a murse. (murse = man purse). Not a bag. A purse. He wore it the whole class. He told us that he wasn’t going to practice with us, because unlike when he first started yoga and he wanted everyone to look at him, he wanted this to be all about us. Oh — thanks. So I’ll just guess what the hell I’m supposed to be doing since you won’t be demonstrating. So he just paced around speaking in soothing tones that actually felt more like razor blades in my eardrums the more I listened to him.
He said “if you’re new to yoga — and really ‘new’ is anything under two years….” Really? He continued, “Really most people in Nashville are new to yoga.”
So he goes on and on about how to get us out of our heads and how we should leave work behind and just not think about anything and just get out of our heads and just be free and just let go of the thoughts and be present in our bodies and listen to our spirits and HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ALL OF THAT CRAP IF YOU WON’T SHUT YOUR PIE HOLE.
Y’all — he talked non-stop.
Then he showed us some stretch, which was awesome I admit — but he preceded it by saying, “now, a lot of people in Nashville haven’t seen this move.”
Then it hit me. This dude is from L.A.
I guaran-dang-tee you he is straight outta West Hollywood.
So class ends, which was just more stressful than good because he was pacing around me in his Birkenstocks swinging his man purse the entire time. Then someone asks him how long he has been here and he says, “Oh, just a little while — I moved here from Los Angeles…..” and I quit listening because in my head I was like ‘I KNEW IT!’
Word on the street has it he may soon be our regular teach. I’m not sure how I feel about this. I might make up some yoga moves that involve gang signs and tell him they are the newest on the yogi scene. I bet he’d be teaching them city-wide later that afternoon.
Oh — and about the title of this post — to keep me from going total yoga hippie, I always say “Nestle Tea” rather than Namaste at the end of class. It’s mine and Rog’s little joke. It feels like I’m not totally conforming.