Everyone who has ever tried yoga knows that when you go to a class for the first time – it can be nerve-wracking. Take it from me – a beginner and newbie to yoga – who basically had an anxiety attack when the instructor kept telling me I was doing everything wrong (isn’t yoga supposed to be relaxing?)
Laura Mazza knows exactly how I feel. Mazza, the blogger behind Mum on the Run and mother of two decided to try a yoga class for the first time since having children and – she opened up about the experience, which, ended up being way worse than my experience and – also hysterical.
Mazza explained that after having kids, she suffered from “muscle separation,”
I have muscle separation. Having kids separated my abominal wall like Moses parting the Red Sea. Yeah it’s not good and my stomach kinda points out like a cone. So you know, I am trying to get fitter and fix it so it was suggested by a physio to try yoga.
Ha…hahahahahahahahahahahaha. Yeah. Okay so.
Here’s where we knew we were in for a good one.
I put on a pair of yoga pants, because for someone who has never done yoga, really, I seem to own a lot of yoga pants. I got the pair that looked less “Ball-y” from sleeping in and yanked them up nice and high and got a clean top. I was wearing my regular nanna jocks. No time for g strings here.
We got into the class and it was dark and there’s candles everywhere. (Just a slight fire risk you guys), I’m thinking, holy shit this is real yoga, not like 5, 6, 7, 8 and stretccchh… this is ‘im going to go to a high place of enlightenment’ right here.
Everyone’s talking to each other and the trainer, yoga master, limber yoda, whatever… is talking to everyone and like talking to them, she’s saying “how’s Daryl and his leg…?” And I’m there hiding in the corner thinking “please for the love of god do not notice me”
Everyone’s taking off their socks and I’m thinking oh lord, my toes are hairy and I didn’t shave them, I only dry shaved my ankles in case my pants ride up.
So I’m looking out at all these slender women with their nice tight yoga pants, and mine with the 80’s flare at the bottom. They all take off their socks to reveal manicured toes and here I am with my froddo feet, trying to hide in the corner so I don’t have to talk about my personal life.
Then ashram yoga guru says loudly “oh we have a new member tonight. We are blessed with the company of….??”
And then I replied with… “oh yes. And I am blessed with your company” I don’t know why I said that, probably because I’m a social idiot.
And she said “oh sorry I was after your name.”
“Okay” she asked me a few more questions where I fumbled my way through and then I started talking about my muscle separation and her eyes glazed over and I trailed off.
“Welcome” she smiled while her skinny body moved down like a slinky.
Yeah – same.
We started doing these random positions, moving into the upward facing dog and I feel a nice crack in my back, thinking i can do this…I totally love yoga. I am a yoga girl!! Look at me so fit right now.
We move into the downward facing dog… and that’s when I started to feel my guts.
Now for the past few weeks I have had IBS Symptoms like something crazy. My farts stink like something mixed between a rotten egg and an incineration plant.
And somewhere between the dolphin position and the three legged dog two of those burning garbage eggs slip out and I fart.
I farted. I farted at yoga. I’m a walking cliche. My pelvic floor has failed me.
They’re quiet, so I’m thinking holy fuck, thank god for that. But then we move to some position where my heads between my legs, and the smell hits me like a punch to the nose. I died inside and now I officially smell like something has also died inside.
I’m thinking, do I leave? Do I leave the country? Is this happening?? IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME? Not only do I look like a slob but now I stink too.
Pause while I wipe the tears off of my keyboard.
Okay. I gather my resolve and say you know what? Whatever. Everyone farts and I can’t help it. I continue attempting thede ridiculous positions and suck in my core. Fitness here we come.
We then go down on this position where we stretch right out but our legs are like a frog on the floor. The teacher then came around and pushed everyone down lower… I thought oh good, gonna get a nice crack in my back again. I hold in my butthole nice and tight to make sure no farts escape again.
She comes over… pushes my back down…
The loudest trumpet comes out of my ass.
I froze and thought oh my god. Oh my god.
OH MY GOD. Sweet baby Jesus. What just happened. I’m dreaming. Surely. I’m in a nightmare.
My face flushes red and I have tears in my eyes from the embarrassment.
I got up, attempted to roll up my yoga mat but couldn’t do it, so I just kinda chucked it to the side.. and grabbed my shoes and socks and my bag all in my arms and basically bolted out the door.
I turn around just as I’m closing the door And look up embarrassed to see everyone on their knees wide eyed staring at me in shock… (or in an awake coma from the smell)
And guru ashram yoga teacher looks at me, bows her head and joins her hands together and says “namaste”
And I think nah I’m a go, and I run out the door and now I’m sitting at McDonald’s eating a sundae crying and laughing.
Sorry physio. I’m never ever ever EVER, doing yoga again. Fuck the muscle separation.
Oh. My. God.
While the entire situation is traumatizing and embarrassing – I have to applaud Mazza for being so f*cking hilarious in the retelling and for hitting up McDonald’s instead (yes girl, yes). My heart goes out to you, fellow traumatized-yoga victim, but also, thank you for making my day.