A few weeks ago I went to a free info session about becoming a yoga teacher. Unfulfilled and frustrated with my current career (this statement is reason #234234 I’m not friends with my boss on Facebook), I decided to explore some other options.
I decided to look into becoming a yoga teacher because I thought it would be a good career for someone who tries to lead a life in a ball of positive energy…and is completely intolerant to any sort of stress or anxiety. I found a few programs that cost about as much as a semester at my college, but I decided I should check it out anyway. If it could help lead to a new career then it might be worth the enormous check they would have to pry from my hands, so off I went to a studio in SoHo.
I changed at work since I wasn’t sure what the bathroom situation would be like, which proved to be a horrendous mistake because the yoga pants I brought were now two sizes too small. The entire train ride I had to keep pulling at my crotch and readjusting to ward of the back rolls that had magically appeared. Safe to say I got a few awkward looks on the train. Although that’s not really new since I usually keep my sunglasses on which makes me look like a drug addict or douche. Or both.
As I walked up the the stairs to the studio I thought, “God I hope this class isn’t full of anorexic ballerinas,” and opened the door to find what? AN ANOREXIC BALLERINA. Who also happened to be one of the instructors. And French.
I wanted to sit in the front to show the instructors that I was very serious about my practice and becoming a teacher, but a very gay man doing a full split and a girl wearing just a sports bra and no body fat had already beat me there. I awkwardly wedged my mat to the side while I tried to avoid getting kicked in the head by the elastic man practicing his splits. All I could think of was, “where do the balls go?”
The instructors introduced themselves and then asked if anyone had any injuries. I suffer from back problems, or ‘grandma back’ as I like to say (which the instructor did not find funny), so I raised my hand. The french toothpick came over and instead of me just saying, “bad back” and smiling, she asked me more questions than my physical therapist does. None of my answers seemed to please her and she avoided me for the rest of the class.
During the class I could feel her death stare on me when I struggled to get into a pose, which was caused by me fidgeting with my pants while trying to balance. The glares combined with my newly formed FUPA was making me anxious, as was the fact that I was WAY to close to the wall and kept punching it, so when I tried to take a deep breath and relax my body decided this was an excellent time to fuck with me and…I farted.
Worst of all, I laughed at myself. I was the only person who laughed. Because clearly I was the only one who was not an adult.
The other instructor came over, humiliated for both of us, and asked me to move my mat back since I was too close to the wall. Back of the room for me.
The rest of the class was basically me trying to relax and get the most of the experience with the instructors glaring at me or trying to adjust me. Normally I’m fine with they adjust me. But this instructor was a ninja and would come out of no where, which scared the shit out of me and make me yelp and fall over.
This happened at least 6 times. It was awkward for everyone.
So, that happened. At first I thought I had made a huge mistake going and wasted my time, but then I realized that this experience made we want to be an instructor even more.
Yogis have this image of being skinny, beautiful, and inhumanly flexible – but that’s not real. The reality is that some yogis are like that but most are not. I’ve been too intimidated to go to classes before because the students and the instructor seemed insanely perfect. But I want to teach people that it’s ok not to be perfect. Yoga is an incredible way to get in touch with your spirit and your body – no matter what they look or feel like. Yoga is about your individual practice and deepening your connection with the earth and the energy that surrounds it.
I want to be a yoga teacher because I want to give people the time, place, and guidance they need to do all of that. That’s what yoga is to me. Not some blonde barbie doll wearing Lululemon leggings and judging me for a having greasy hair (it was an off day bitch, leave me alone).
Yoga is a wonderful gift to give to yourself and to others, and I strongly encourage you all to try it. Especially when I become an instructor.
So that yoga studio was not the one for me. But that’s ok – I found another one. An affordable one. In Queens.
Suck it Manhattan.