Friday, December 7, 2012

Yoga Bitches


Three and a half years of yoga and I still can’t touch my toes. I can get closer to my toes than I could three and a half years ago, and I consider that a success. Ultimately the greatest success would be if I can get as close to my toes as is possible for me, and not compare myself to the chick next to me who can touch her toes, and give herself a full gynecological exam.
After a year in an intermediate yoga class with other motivated mommies, I had the inclination to get the hell out of there. My first indication that I was attending a yoga poser class, were my classmates, who I have so aptly named, the Yoga Bitches. Yoga Bitches are blonde. They have no mommy tummies, of course never because they had their plastic surgeons sculpt them away, but because God just bestowed them better after-baby-bellies than you.

They wear the ultimate in poser yoga fitness apparel, expensive little pastel half shirts that accentuate their perky boobies and floaty pants that hug their flat tummies. They carry bags that say, Inspire, Dream, Believe, Nirvana, and have happy little fat Buddhas all over them. They have expensive yoga mats that they roll out next to each other, like little yoga besties.
While the rest of us try to meditate, downward dog, child pose and stretch, they talk loudly about their shopping, brilliant children and doting workaholic/totally perfect family man husbands. They chug water from their eco-friendly water bottles like they are gearing to run a marathon. Worst of all they befriend the yoga instructor, who until she started chatting with the Yoga Bitches, had some credibility.
They plank, they sun salute and they downward dog better than you and all in the very front row too!  And in my Savasana, where I am supposed to shut out all outside thoughts and environmental stressors, and I can still feel their Yoga Bitch presence next to me, doing it better.

Maybe Yoga Bitches, are really my Insecurities Incarnate. How am I to find deeper access to my joy, if I am surrounded by manifestations of consumerism? How am I supposed to aim higher if I am surrounded by hypocrites? How am I supposed to find peace, if all I hear is their incessant chatter? How am supposed to get better, if all I see are people effortlessly doing something it took me months to master?
Maybe I am missing the greatest lesson my yoga class has to teach me, and the greatest Yogis are really the Yoga Bitches.
Apparently the hardest pose for me to master in yoga, is the one that blocks out the posers.

 

Gratuitous funny cat picture. You're welcome.

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