Stolen Yoga

When I first moved to NY, I started looking for things to do. My two very best friends live here as does my mom and my aunt. But my one friend and my mom live about twenty minutes east of me (we lovingly refer to where they are as France). My aunt lives one town over but is a very busy person. My other friend lives in the same town as I do but she commutes way up island to work and by the time she gets home and has fed her family, I am likely lying in my bed. I like it in bed because it is very warm there. People from Hawaii (where we moved from) ask me if we have heat, which of course we do. It’s just not great heat and our floors are icy, the insides of the cabinets naturally refrigerate all of the food in them (the olive oil was chunky the other day). So bed is good. Bed is warm. Bed is comfy. And when it gets dark at like four, six thirty feels like it’s time to go to bed.

I work from home so I really need to get out and mingle with people at some point during the day. I signed up for the boot camp class offered through the town that my mom takes. It is $50 for the entire session of two night a week workouts. My mom has been taking the classes for years and years. The woman who runs it sets up a myriad of stations around the gym at the local high school (it is closer to France than I would like). We do some warm ups. And then cycle through the stations twice. A bit of stretching and then I’m headed home. It is good for me. I talk to people. I do some stuff. Worth every penny.

Before we fell back and were plunged into perpetual darkness, I was looking for something else to do. I checked out the schedule at the library near our place. There were so many things. And one of the things was yoga. I have only taken yoga in the privacy of my own home, via Tony Horton. Who knows? Maybe he does his own made up version of yoga? Luckily downward dog is not something that he just made up. I found that there was a Tuesday evening yoga class at the library. I decided to give it a go. I was feeling nervous but assumed that it would be awful. That everyone would be seventy. That the instructor would be second rate. And it was free. What could be better? None of those things ended up being true.

I went to my first class. It is in the library basement. I brought my mat and a water bottle. The woman who runs the class is named Rosemary (my grandmother’s name). The class was well attended and everyone took their shoes off outside of the room and backed their yoga mats up to the wall. And Rosemary talked. And she talked and talked. She told funny stories. She said “today is the happiest day of your life” a bunch of times. She talked through the poses. She described, rather than named them. She told us to thank our bodies and forgive them for anything that they can’t do. She says that you just have to laugh. She mumbo jumbos about apple cider vinegar but I can forgive her this because I love her class so much.

What is it about ohms? I even loved doing them with Tony Horton. It was one of the parts that I would never fast forward through. I love doing them with the class. The class was great for me although I realized during the second one that I was doing weird breathing things on the mat next to my son’s algebra teacher. The pitfalls of a small town.

I liked the class so much that I went back again. That week, I received the library’s schedule in the mail. It had a calendar of the many programs that were offered. And it was there that I realized that the yoga class was not free (as I had so joyously proclaimed on Facebook). I could sign up for the series or pay fifteen dollars a class. Having realized that I had already accidentally absconded with two classes, I was kind of mortified.

When I went back the following week, I confessed to the lady at the front desk. I paid my back fees and for that evening. A friend said that they should just let it go since I was so truthful. But they didn’t. They took all my money. And I was okay with that. And I still go. And sometimes I am still next to my son’s algebra teacher doing weird breathing. But now I always pay. And Rosemary always says that it is the happiest day of my life. And sometimes I believe her.

About nematomorph

Living like the rich and famous, splitting time between Hawaii and New York.
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