You'd be blown away if you saw me do yoga!

Yesterday I was feeling so much better in the afternoon that I decided I would do a little yoga.  Thanks to tips from Anonymous (impromptu Vicks vaporizer) and Chellie (take guafenasin) I was no longer nearly as congested and I thought it might help with the achiness.  Things were going pretty good until I went into downward dog pose.

 

Once my head turned upside down my sinuses let go in a continuous stream that extended from my nose to the mat.  It was pretty gross, but wait!  there's more!  Then a sudden and violent sneeze finished the job causing me to have to change my shirt, wash my hands and arms up to the elbow, wash my entire face, and sterilize my yoga mat.  "Well," I thought to myself, "at least there wasn't anyone here to witness this."

If only that had always been the case.  I don't take yoga classes anymore.  Nope, I've learned the hard way that for me, yoga is more of a solitary pursuit.

When I lived in Ohio the local combined YMCA/JCC began offering a yoga class on Saturday mornings.  It cost extra and was fairly early in the morning so while it was well attended in the beginning, attendance began to drop off significantly after a few weeks until one day it was just me and the instructor.  "I won't use any music this morning since it's just the two of us," said the still-innocent instructor.  "We'll just talk and breathe our way through the poses."  At the time I didn't really think very much about this decision.  About how quiet it would be.

Things were going along well.  It was nearing the end of class when my instructor suggested we move into plough pose:

I went into the pose with no problem.  It was when I was to slowly, oh so slowly bring my legs back over my head that things went wrong.  Terribly wrong.   The first emissions were a series of staccato bursts.  The compressed air in my bowels just burst out rat-a-tat-tat but then it was over.  Noisy but mercifully brief.  I froze in place my legs just a few inches off the ground above my head.  Embarassed, but trying to remind myself that this is a normal body function, this woman is a professional instructor, at least its over, I took a deep breath in and began to slowly lift my legs again.

Big mistake.  HUGE mistake.

As soon as I started to move I began to pass gas continuously.  I was helpless to stop it!  I had to get my legs down, but with every move I made every ounce of air in my body was being expelled out of my butt.  In sheer humiliation I began to silently laugh.  My shoulders were shaking, my face was flaming, tears were streaming down my face and as I laughed my stomach muscles were contracting and with each contraction, another burst.  It went on and on until finally my legs were on the ground. 

Then silence.

I didn't know what to say and I was too ashamed to look at my instructor.  Inside I'm begging her to just laugh, yell, leave, do anything, but no, the silence just dragged on.  Do I dare laugh?  Is that rude?  Do I apologize?  What is the etiquette for passing gas for 2 minutes?  I wasn't even sure if I could speak, let alone what I would say!

After a few moments of silence (during which I am convinced my instructor was fighting for control like she had never fought before) she resumed the class as if nothing had happened.  We didn't do anymore legs-over-the-head poses (no surprise there) and when it was over she thanked me for coming as usual.  I, of course, couldn't meet her eyes.  A few days later I received notice that the class had been cancelled due to lack of attendance.  Lack of attendance my Aunt Fanny!  I think we all know why that class isn't offered anymore at the YMCA/JCC.

I just wonder if that poor woman quit being an instructor for good.  Traumatizing it must have been.  For both of us.  A few months later I moved almost 1000 miles away.  Coincidence?