Cowboy Yoga

Last week I walked out of my yoga class in my cowboy boots and yoga pants/top.  I went to the grocery store in my outfit and as I was getting the kind of looks that people in yoga pants and cowboy boots get, I realized a) how much I love yoga and b) how much it doesn't matter that I am the exact wrong person to be doing it.

Starting with b. After 10 months of diligently practicing yoga, I am still the opposite of a yogi (which is, by the way, a huge improvement.) On the physical side, I tend to fall over a lot and my body never seems to get into the graceful positions that I am asked to do. My frog pose looks more like a toad and my pigeon has a broken leg.  I have, on more than one occassion, kicked the person in front of me while falling ungracefully out of a headstand (I was relieved and excited when someone else accidently kicked me tonight). I often have to hike up my pants, pull down my shirt or readjust my headband. My butt often sticks up in the air when I am supposed to be in a nice flat plank pose.

On the mental side, one is supposed to concencrate on their breath and movement while going from pose to pose. (this is not true in every kind of yoga, but definitely in the type of yoga I do). I often have to wait for the teacher to remind me that breathing is a necessary activity  before I breathe at all, and, I am able to concentrate on everything but yoga during certain parts of the practice. Tonight, while I was sweating on the floor, I thought about a phone call I wanted to make, the beef stew I had for lunch, the appointment I had in the morning and of course, how I would write up these thought in my blog.

I people watch before class, which is entirely un-yogic. Instead of concentrating on where I am and not judging those around me, I look at all of the weird outfits people are wearing, watch people try cool yoga tricks and listen to people hitting on each other. I completely judge everyone for their outfits (which I TOTALLY have no right to do, I showed up in gray polka dot pajama pants and a blue tank top once) and I get bothered when the room isn't the right temperature or the person next to me has put their mat too close to mine.

And this gets to why I love yoga and why my status as a yoga flunkie does not matter. I love yoga because I walk into class and I am a total judgmental witch. But by the time I get into a few downward dogs, I feel a connection with the people around me. No matter what we are wearing or we are doing, we are all just trying to breath and concentrate. If I start thinking about everything and everyone, I can laugh at myself, note my reactions and move on. There are no contests and no points taken off one's final score for getting distracted.  Every time I have fallen and hit someone, they laugh with me, there is no anger or insult, just a recognition that we are all trying and sometimes we fail.  By the time class is over, I feel calm, nice and happy (and I smell like a gym locker, yoga is a very sweaty activity.)

And so, for everyone that thinks that only yogis can do yoga, wrong. It is more important for us flunkies; the judgmental, uncoordinated people who wear cowboy boots to practice than some schmoe who is already a non-judgmental acrobat with incredible powers of concentration.

Pictures are courtesy of Terra. Peace :)