the least flexible girl in yoga class
I went to a yoga class for the first time in my 27 years of life yesterday. It was free - a weekly, community yoga class put on by a local studio - so I figured I had nothing to lose, other than time.
I have always been hesitant to work out in front of other people. Maybe I shouldn't say always; as a pre-adolescent kid, I had no problem showing off, or attempting to, during physical education class. I played soccer for ten years, until I started getting panic attacks from being watched during games. The onset of my major depressive and panic disorders wrecked both my motivation and my lack of fear when it came to public exercise.
Recently, I have been doing a lot of self-reflection and (I think) growing. With that has come the drive to be more social and to push myself out of my comfort zone. So far, that has looked like: gardening at the local Buddhist temple, attending a writing workshop, knitting at the park, cleaning up my neighborhood, and having lunch by myself at the nearby Thai joint.
I walked to the yoga studio yesterday, in spite of the recent heat. It's almost the Summer solstice and I can feel it in every step I take. I left early, as I have a fear of being late. The instructor greeted me, warm and open, when I arrived and gave me a tour of the studio. I nodded along, trying to play it cool, like I've toured dozens of yoga studios before.
I settled into the corner of the room closest to the door, both for the ease of escape and because, since it was a heated class, that was the coolest spot. A floor-to-ceiling mirror took up the entirety of the wall opposite me so I opted to lay down on my mat until everyone arrived and the class began, so as to avoid eye contact with myself.
It was already almost uncomfortably hot and I worried I hadn't put on enough deodorant. Would I sweat so much that I'd bore a hole through my mat and the floor beneath it, ultimately crashing to my demise? I shook the thought away.
After everyone arrived, the instructor began to ease us into the flow of class. At first, I felt confident, following along as I watched her move so gracefully. But as the minutes ticked by and we moved into more and more intricate poses with increasing speed, I began to cast glances around the room, noting the flexibility of the girl to my left and the couple in front of me. I knew they knew it was my first time and I wondered if they thought I was a fool for even trying. I shook the thought away.
I turned my focus instead to a spot in front of my mat, trying to pour all of my thoughts and spiraling into that point. I paid attention to my breathing, to the sweat accumulating behind my knees, to the heat that permeated the room and the outside beyond the windows.
I looked around again and realized that no one was looking at me. No one was thinking about me. Everyone was focused on their own flow. Why do I think that I am so important that everyone cares what I do?
The truth of it is, no one cared that I couldn't touch my toes. They were all looking at their own toes. I am allowed to not be good at things, especially things I have never done before. In fact, sometimes it's fun to be bad because that means we have so much to learn and so much space to grow. I certainly can not get worse at yoga by going to classes, so that means I will get better.
I am okay with being the least flexible girl in yoga class.