I got invited to attend a maternity yoga class coming up next week, but I’m afraid I’m still too much of a doofus for yoga. I gave it the ” Facebook Maybe” which is introvert for, “uh, no thanks, but I am too awkward to actually come out and say ‘I won’t be attending.’”
Yoga and I sporadically go back a long, clumsy, ridiculous, embarrassing way. This is because every five years or so, I get the bug to try a yoga class, and am them promptly reminded of why I don’t practice yoga. It is because I am a clumsy dork with the maturity level of Beavis.
The last time I gave in to the cyclical yoga urge was about three years ago, and it was a Yoga For Cyclists class. It was being taught by a woman I know and like, which is why I only stayed for one session. I didn’t want my Beavis-y side to ruin our friendship.
On literally every occasion I’ve tried to yoga, I get self conscious. I fall over, get the giggles, and spend the entire class strenuously willing myself not to fart. I am naturally a shockingly flatulent person under the best of circumstances, and Pregnancy is definitely not the best of circumstances as regards suppression of poots. If, by some miracle, I manage to hold it all in, I’m afraid I’d float up to the ceiling like an airship and Hindenburg myself on a light fixture. Whilst giggling, of course.
Or else I would just have a mental image of said scenario, get the giggles, and fall over.
In short, it is highly questionable that I should be let out amongst the general public, let alone be closed in with a bunch of them in a warm room, trying to center my energy, not fall over, and not rip a bit, noisy toot.