Morning Yoga

Did you know it's National Yoga Awareness Month? To show my support, I headed off to yoga class at my local gym this morning. I'm not a regular of the morning classes. A morning person, I am not. (I'm not really a night person either. Think of me as maybe a late afternoon person, except when I'm PMSing. Then I'm no person at all.)


Morning yoga is interesting. I had that song from Sesame Street running through my head as I rolled out my yoga mat. "One of these things is not like the other. One of these things doesn't belong...." (Catchy tune, isn't it?) A quick visual assessment told me I was the youngest person in the room....probably by 30 years. I guess all of the non-retired folks usually at the evening yoga class are on their way to gainful employment at 6:45 in the morning.

Now I have absolutely nothing against old people. (No, my fingers aren't crossed.) In fact, I sincerely hope to be one someday. It's one of my long-term goals, actually. But a senior citizen yoga class has a few "extra benefits".

First, there's the before-class chatter. I am absolutely unable to jump in the conversations about bunyons and gladiolus and grandchildren. That leaves me to to feign mild interest, nodding my head in an attempt to appear an empathetic listener, while doing some lite pre-stretches and wishing class would just begin already.

Second, are the sound effects. There's an awful lot more groaning in the morning yoga class. Downward-facing dog actually sounds like a pack of growling mongrels. Grunting and groaning apparently helps the elderly to bend. I know this because my gandmother makes the same grumbly noise when she tries to pick up something off the floor, or even tries to stand from a sitting position. Maybe it helps lubricate the joints.

Third, is the aroma. This one kind of goes along with the second benefit in that the aroma is preceeded by another sound effect. I suppose yoga stimulates the digestive tract (which I know that it actually does), but I didn't know flatulence would be part of that. Some occasional gas might work it's way out during a yoga class. When you think about all of the bending and contorting, you really aught to expect it. However, in my evening yoga class people are a lot sneakier about it. You don't usually hear it coming. These older ladies are so comfortable with themselves (I hope that's it, because if I lose control of bodily functions as I age, I may rethink that long-term goal of mine.). They pretty much just let it rip. I heard pooting up dogs, pooting pigeons, pooting cats and cows, even pooting corpses during the course of the class. It was an entire gassy yoga zoo. There was a fog that smelled of moth balls, cream of wheat, and Metamucil hanging in the room, all while the instructor reminded us to breathe. No thanks. Could somebody light some Nag Champa?

But I'll be back bright and early Thursday morning. I know I could just practice on my own at home, but I'm much more likely to sleep far too late if I don't have an actual class to go to. Besides I need to keep up with all the bunyon gossip.