3.4
September 24, 2012

Yoga Guy. ~ Stacey Kolsrud

It seems even too cliché to write, but I have met him…Yoga Guy…not as bad as this yoga guy, but still…

Being unemployed allows for lots of free time to try out new yoga studios. Armed with my yoga mat and yoga BFF, I headed into class ready to relax and renew.

Knowing myself and that I do not respond to change well (at all), I decided to sit quietly meditating before class to get used to the new space and check in with myself to see what I needed from class. I was just getting settled when I heard someone ask, “Are you saving this spot?” I looked up to see the urban legend that I had heard so much about, abominable yoga guy, completely covered head to toe in hair, and wearing shorts which left nothing to the imagination.

photo courtesy Justin Rogers

Being the budding bodhisattva that I am, I promptly responded, “all yours” as enthusiastically as possible.

“Okay,” my inner monologue began, “this is your practice for today. Notice judgment, annoyance, just notice…oh, f*ck!”

Urban Tarzan had begun his pre-class ritual of attempting to reach his toes, huffing, puffing and grunting the whole time.

“Ok,” I thought to myself, “what are my options here? Move, leave,” but before I could finish my thought the lights dimmed and the teacher began guiding us in the opening meditation.

Things went surprisingly smoothly for the first half of class. Besides trying to hide my “that’s nasty face” every time yoga guy dripped sweat onto his mat or took a break to mop up, I was able to get into my own yoga groove, but as the class began to reach the end, the teacher decided we were ready to try some hand stands. Already exhausted from the day/class, I did my usual pony kicks (i.e. preparatory jumps) and focused on maintaining proper alignment.

Yoga Guy, however, had a different approach. He began throwing his legs up in the air, grunting and farting (yes, farting) the whole time. Afraid for my life, I abandoned my practice and curled up near the end of my mat, as far away from the flailing Neanderthal as possible. The pose, usually called Child’s Pose, quickly became Frightened Animal Pose as I made note of each of Yoga Guy’s attempts at levitation.

The teacher suggested one last attempt before beginning our cool down and as I prepared to flip over onto my back for savasanna, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, that yoga guy was really wobbly and in fact was falling over and headed in my direction! I moved my hands out of the way before one of his giant feet landed smack on my mat.

I couldn’t help but stare at the rivers of sweat creating lines in his overgrowth forest of leg hair.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, “my bad.” He removed his foot only to leave a footprint of sweat on my mat that quickly turned into a little pool of foulness.

With this being my first time at the studio and the instructor already dimming the lights for final relaxation, I looked around quickly for where they might have the mat spray and towels, but finding nothing, I grabbed the blanket I was planning on using to keep myself warm and laid it over the tiny pool. Curse words floated through my inner monologue; then sheer annoyance and disgust.

As soon as the final Om was chanted, I hopped up to return my props and tell my yoga BFF all about the events of the past 90 minutes. Looking über Zen herself, she took one look at me and mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

I mouthed back, “Later.”

I headed to the bathroom to wash my hands in case I had accidentally come in contact with any of the yeti’s bodily fluids. Taking a few deep breaths of the lavender soap, I felt ready to face the world again or at least my friend and move on with my day.

I found my friend waiting for me outside the studio. “Great class,” she said, “What did you think of it?”

“Ha,” I said, but before I could launch into the full story, Yoga Guy came out of the studio and gave a little wave in my direction before heading off down the sidewalk.

“Do you know him?” she asked, “He’s kinda cute…”

Unable to control myself any longer, I made the combination stink eye/death stare in his direction and responded, “Yyyyyeah, he’s all yours!”

 

Stacey is a chubby hippy living life champagne-style on a tap water budget.

 

 

 

~

Editor: Seychelles Pitton

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