Originally published between 2011 and 2014, this post has been updated but preserves its original publish date as content is migrated from the archives of The Flavored Word.
I am a runner. And without regressing to the glory days, I will simply say that at one time—be it a long time ago—I was actually pretty darn good. Alas, I am no longer in the business of record setting and have attempted to embrace yoga. Really. I have tried. Tried and tried and tried again to do the yoga thing, alas, this is one time that the adage “try and try again,” should be put to rest because this inflexible dog cannot downward, upward or even salute the sun in a manner suitable to the ancient art. Bear in mind, I am not uncoordinated but when I finally become a tree (my favorite pose) the wind picks up and my branches quickly begin to flounder.
Still, I think the yogis like it when I show up because I give them something they don’t usually get from their instructor—entertainment. Pure entertainment. Don’t get me wrong here, I think it’s great that Suzy Q can incorporate a headstand into her daily routine and that Jenny O is able to perform a perfect lotus, but I know that while they are “practicing” they are also pleasantly amused by the distraction my awkwardness provides …
And yet, while I know it’s not supposed to be a competition, I can’t help but feel a little, well, defeated as my dancer shakes violently whilst struggling to stay standing and the artistes nearby strike lovely uninhibited poses. Admittedly, some of the rivalry I feel comes directly from me as I have always been my toughest critic, but I can’t help but sense that the poor unfortunate souls unlucky enough to place their mats near me are a bit annoyed by the distraction I have provided. Then again, maybe that’s my inner critic …
(sigh) So, I take my wounded warrior home and secretly wish that the next time I show up for yoga, it will instead be an impromptu running class where I can show everyone that while these rigid hamstrings may only belong to a semi-happy pigeon, they can still turn out a six-minute mile when prompted. Ah, the glory days.
Cover image from Pexels’ free photos.
DISCLAIMER: I’m a writer and an editor. And I try my best to make sure every post is articulate and free from errors. However, being that I edit my own work—and it’s next to impossible to properly edit your own work—I admit, occasionally there may be an error or two I miss. But doing so doesn’t make me an idiot so don’t be mean. Just smile, pat yourself on the back for finding an error and be glad you’re not the only one who makes mistakes sometimes … xoxox
Leave a Reply