30 consecutive days of yoga, week 1

in which I subject myself to smelly rooms full of Boulder yoga people in order to simply see what happens.

Day 1: Wednesday, September 29
My friend Josie has been going to Corepower Yoga in North Boulder for some time now. She loves it, and she's been on my case to go with her for months. I always felt that Corepower was kind of the fast food of yoga: lots of food without any nutrition. Of course, I formed that opinion without actually ever going. So I took my snobby self to a class with Josie. First impression: the room smells like sweaty manparts. Second impression: there are no men in the class. It was a level 1 class, so I thought it would be easy. But because I've been on the bench, essentially, since the end of March, it hurt. A lot. 
What happened: I patted myself on the back for taking care of myself.


Day 2: Thursday, September 30
The room still smells weird. Why do all these people bring towels? Why are my arms shaking in high plank? What's with the situps in the middle of class? Who are these people who can go to yoga in the middle of the day, anyway? Don't any of you people work? 
What happened: I said hi to my inner judgmental bitch.

Day 3: Friday, October 1
Okay, the other studio room doesn't smell nearly as bad. And I like this instructor; he's also nice to look at. My arms aren't shaking as much, but put me in triangle pose and I want to throw up. 
What happened: I resolved to get stronger.


Day 4: Saturday, October 2
Dim sum for brunch. Lots of it. Which you would think would preclude the Hot Power Fusion class. But no. I figure if I have to run out of class, fine, I'll just position myself close to the door. Which I do. Everyone in class has a piece of fabric that they cover their mat with, and then spray with water. I do not. And oops about that, because I'm sliding all over the place, starting in downward dog and winding up slipping into high plank. I am dripping with sweat. But I can go deeper into the poses, and my mind has stopped spinning thanks to the fact that unless I pay close attention to the instructor, I look like a complete asshole.

You know that's not me because I'm not blond.

What happened: I started pricing those mat cover thingies online. They're expensive!


Day 5: Sunday, October 3
I go to yoga instead of going to dance class: a first. It's a level 1 class taught by a much-beloved charming gay instructor guy. I can see why people adore him. He proposes radical acceptance of limitations.
What happened: I wished I had more gay male buddies.


Day 6: Monday, October 4
First evening class. It's a 1.5, which is the stepping stone to level 2. My pal Heidi is teaching; I haven't seen her in a few years, so her first question is, "How's your husband?" I tell her I'm divorced and get the collective, "ooooohh" from the group of teachers assembled behind the check-in desk. Announcing this news with the requisite "Yeah, that was fast," comment has gotten really old.  And I can see that day classes are more my speed; evening classes are larger, and there are more Boulder type A athletes in them, doing something called "flipping their dogs." I showed up not feeling great, with an upset tummy and speeding thoughts. After class, I do feel great. I also feel calm.

This is not me either.

What happened: I was able to get my knees up to my armpits so that eventually I can do a full Crow.


Day 7: Tuesday, October 5
Today's class: yin yoga. Supported opening poses with no muscle engagement, which sounded divine. Turns out this class was the most challenging so far in that there was no external force, like a teacher announcing the eighth chaturanga, to make my mind shut the hell up. Buzz buzz buzz. Also, note to yoga teachers, if you're going to spray me in the face with lavender water, please give me some warning. Otherwise, not so relaxing to get spritzed.
What happened: Time passed.


On to week two. Namaste.