Email to My Yoga Teacher

Amy,

It was my first yoga class in a while and it felt weird.  I mean, what’s the perception of someone who hasn’t been to a yoga class in a while?  As I looked at all the bodies flat on the ground, all I could think of was John Belushi, I mean Bluto, in Animal House:  “Hey! What’s this lyin’ around sh*t?”  The people were barely clothed but this wasn’t a toga party.  What were we doing?  Why were they, and I, doing this so early on a Saturday morning?  It’s not gonna help my GPA.  I don’t think I can put it on my resume.

My warrior wasn’t solid and I was surely susceptible to enemy attacks.  The heels of my downward dog weren’t touching the ground but I didn’t feel high.  I was quivering in vasisthasana as my brain made a futile attempt at translating sanskrit.

In a strange way I felt exhilarated as we flowed through the poses.  I felt out of my mind and surely looked crazy so maybe I should wear a toga to the next class.  I can visualize it now:  A little bit louder now.  Shout!  Shout!  Yeah!  Yeah!  Yeah!  Yeah!

Gary