I have a hard time with commitment.
I’m always wondering if there’s something better lying just around the corner. I’m that one toe out the door person. But last week, after a skinned knee, a sore back and a bruised ego, I have decided to be faithful to my yoga studio.
Along with my wandering eye is my obsession with bargains. This is a deadly combination for a yoga practice. The coupons/groupons/living socials/sales/offers/promos have literally sent me all over Denver in search of the perfect yoga practice.
Here’s what I’ve found:
1. A studio with exposed brick walls. Ouch to legs—or anything else—up the wall.
2. A teacher that asks, “Don’t you want to challenge yourself? You can’t do sun salutations forever!” (No, actually I don’t. I like a calm, peaceful, injury-free practice.)
3. A yoga…(what shall we call it?)…herding area with rooms so big you are really nothing more than a cow in a way overcrowded pasture.
4. A studio so tiny that had I lost my balance, I would have fallen on the very, very pregnant teacher.
5. A “beginner” class that sent me back to the chiropractor.
6. A teacher who constantly paired us up for inversions, so that I almost killed my partners.
7. A room full of yoga-thoners who existed merely for the purpose of showing off their most challenging inverted pretzel poses.
8. Yoga fashionistas who had a look of horror when I walked in wearing old, faded Gap yoga pants.
9. An entire studio full of skinny minis who forced me into the corner so my real world size ass wouldn’t penetrate their skinny bubble.
10. A seemingly basic class that knocked me to the ground with the teacher promising to help me “next time.”
So, I would like to apologize to Whole Yoga.
Please take me back even though I strayed. You are really nice. You don’t make me do, wear, be anything I’m not comfortable doing, wearing, being.
Your beginner class is really for beginners and my back thanks you for that when it’s cranky.
I really like your smooth walls, cushy floor and space to spread out. You like me no matter what my size or shape.
You don’t have any show offs, so I never feel like a loser. You don’t let me hurt myself or anyone else. You make me feel special by never having too many people in the studio at one time.
You let me be me.
Please Whole Yoga take me back. I promise to be better this time. I will be loyal to you and only you. I just need to let the scab on my knee heal first.
Until then, I’ll think of you—and only you—often.
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Assist Ed: Dana Gornall/Ed: Sara Crolick