Saturday, June 22, 2013

yoga mat

i love love yoga!
even if it seriously and clearly does not love me back

My hands slide from the yoga mat and my toes curl, desperately clinging to the mat to maintain my position. The instructor pushes my back further downwards in full confidence of my flexibility. "I'm slipping", I say, silently cursing this el cheapo mat I got from Chris Sports. My core is in tremor. My heart is heavy and gripping in frustration. I skip the hot shower I usually take after every work out, run out of the gym and get in a taxi.

Two of my classmates did a headstand.

The instructor yogi-fully stopped at every student and checked the stance/pose and said in a heavenly Ghandi-whisper, "good...". BUT ME. She did not stop and look at me. And whispered the heavenly airy, "good...". 

I so wanted that "good...".

My yoga mat neighbor is a 50-something bearded man who can lie down on the mat, bring his knees towards his chest, grip his big toes with his key fingers then stretch both arms and legs without releasing the toe grip in perfect 180-linear-degrees.

I am a soon to be 27 kid-dult (kid adult). 
And I cannot even stand on both feet. 

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