Yoga: Could it BE More Stressful?

If you haven't visited my blog in a while, take a look at the last post regarding a big change in blog topics. ("This Blog Has Taken a Turn... Hopefully not for the Worse.") Anyone will tell you that yoga is great for relieving stress. I beg to differ. I've never been so stressed out until I started taking it. The first day was a dilly. First of all, every instructor loves to whisper. (I'm guessing there aren't many New York Jewesses such as myself who teach yoga. I, for one, am not genetically pre-disposed to being a good whisperer. "YOU IN THE BACK! WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW TO DO THAT POSE? IT'S ALL WRAAAAWNG!") When I first walked into the yoga room/studio, whatever, it was dark. "What happened? They canceled the class?"

Apparently it wasn't darkness afterall but tranquility. Then the instructor spoke... very very softly. It was like she'd started the volume on her inner remote control on a 7 and hit the minus button three times. I couldn't make out a word she was saying. And it was too dark to try to read her lips. All I kept thinking was: "Crap, I hope she's not calmly telling us there's a fire in the building and we have to evacuate immediately."

I had flashbacks of going to the cheapy movie theater in Florida with my father and he and all of the other 80 year olds would bring their ear phones that were supposed to enhance the sound of the film. All you would hear the whole movie were the rustling of baggies containing smuggled-in snacks, the ear-splitting squeal of sound-enhancement devices when they were turned up too high and the entire audience "whispering" in their New York whispers to the person next to them: "WHAT DID HE SAY? CAN YOU HEAR WHAT THEY'RE SAYING? WHY IS EVERYONE TAWKING SOOO LOW?!"

So getting back to yoga hell. Among this serene environment created by and emanating from the instructor and wafting around the room to the others, there I was wreaking of negative energy mumbling to my neighbor trying not to move my lips: "She's not really saying anything. She's just screwing with us, right?"

She responded: "Socks" I thought that was somehow yoga code for: "Shut the hell up". I was pretty sure she wasn't using the acronym: "Serving Our Community with Kindness" Finally, I looked down and realized I was the only one in the room who wasn't barefoot.

Having spent most of my life in a big northern city, I haven't had the opportunity to run barefoot much. When we moved, and I mentioned to a woman in the park that her kid was running around without any shoes or socks, she said:

"It's okay. You're in the South now." To which I replied:

"You have no broken glass in the South?"

So anyway, I pulled off my socks wondering whether the class would abruptly change the "barefoot" rule once they'd all gotten an eyeful of my yellow toenail.

A friend of mine who takes yoga elsewhere said they have a rule that you're not supposed to eat before coming to class. I assumed it was so that you would somehow be cleansed and purified and more connected to your inner spirit before entering the sanctity of the room. She said she's pretty sure it's so that nobody lets out gas mid-pose. ***** If you'd like to get emails about Laughing IS Conceivable please subscribe to the right. Also consider my ebook at the right: Laughing IS Conceivable: One Woman's Extremely Funny Peek into the Extremely Unfunny World of Infertility. (Free at Kindle Library)