Yoga

I had three ceserean sections in 5 years. When you say it like that, it sounds all dramatic. But I'm all about the present moment, and in the present moment, that translates into constant back pain and an unimaginably weak stomach. I'm serious. I keep trying to do situps or planks, and it's very sad.

I bet the kids in Africa would say that too. It's that sad, people.

So I got fired by PT, then I tried Chiropractic stuff and it helped a little, then I tried therapeutic massage and that helped a little, but all this to say that nothing helped enough to make it not hurt every day. And believe me, I would like nothing more than to stare Chris in the eye and joyfully announce "It's not my fault that I need a massage every week. It's your fault, because I carried all your babies." That is a win that would be the winner of all wins. But it isn't working.

Then it happened. Somebody recommended Pilates and Yoga to me. I almost laughed out loud. I might just be the least flexible human being on the planet. I touch my toes if and only if my knees are bent. In my defense though, I'm super tall. My feet are really far away. I can't be blamed for my freakishly long legs. Maybe you can touch your toes because they are way closer to your body. I'm just sayin.

The hour that I could go to the yoga/pilates mix came, and I quickly looked up the class on the internet and watched a youtube clip. I was blown away by how easy it looked. All they were doing was standing around. No joke. They stood there, counted some numbers, lifted an arm and then stopped. I can totally do that. No problem. I hope I don't embarrass all those people when I come in and look super bored by their non-existant workout. I mean, two words. College Athlete.

So I went to class and picked a spot in the very back, just in case the class was too easy and I wanted to duck out and get a real workout. The girl up front looked like I could break her in half if she got between me and a piece of pizza. And her voice was like sugar and definitely not the voice of an athletic coach. Whereas I've been yelled at much of my athletic life, she was all quietly saying "okay everybody. When you are ready, go ahead and stand up on your feet, real quietly. When you are ready. It's so nice to see all of you today."

If these people break out into song or something, I'm out of here. We are not even wearing shoes. This is not a workout.

And it begins.

Lets just say that within 15 seconds of the class starting, the voice of mockery in my head quickly changed to whining. It was an instant shift. My body was bent into all sorts of directions that are not possible. The sugary voice would tell me to have my hand on the floor with my foot as an assitant while the entire REST OF MY BODY WAS NOT TOUCHING THE FLOOR AT ALL, but rather pointed up to the sky. SERIOUSLY. And hold....for 45 seconds. During that pose, I kept thinking that if I fell and smashed my face and broke my nose, I would never ever go to the Emergency Room because I would not survive the embarrassment of explaining that to my coworkers.

And the very worst part is that when I looked around for just a HINT of validation on the faces of my fellow classmates, they looked SERENE. Tranquil even....as if they were on a beach in Hawaii and the breeze was brushing their face gently in the sunlight. Except that their legs were up in the sky and they were holding up their entire body with a few fingers and a couple toes. Unreal. I know for sure that I muttered fairly loudly in a nearly silent room "You have got to be kidding me, right?" before noting the entirely relaxed, peaceful faces of my collegues.

At one point, I was a total pretzel and the sugary voice told me to, if I could, reach back and grab my left foot with my left hand. I laughed to myself, thinking "there is no way my foot is even back there". Just for kicks though, I reached out behind me and, lo and behold, MY FOOT WAS THERE. I didn't even know my foot was there.

That is some kind of messed up situation when you don't know the exact location of your foot.

By the end, my entire body was shaking, sweat was dripping down my face and I wanted to cry for my mommy.

And this is weird, because when you go to a cardio class like spin (my go-to fave), you walk away fully knowing that you got your butt kicked, but it was like an army soldier guy that whooped your buns, so you are kinda proud and you wear your yucky disgusting sweat with pride.

This round, with the yoga people, I feel like I got my buns kicked by some tiny lady who was petting little kittens and meditating while I died of total exhaustion from doing nearly nothing, except it felt like everything.

At the very end, you are supposed to lay down on your mat while the lights turn out and.....well I'm not sure what you are supposed to do. Something like stare at the ceiling and, like the sugary voice said, "let your thoughts come and go and pass by" or whatever. So I laid there, all relaxed and thought carefully about what muscles had not been obliterated and might assist in getting me up off the floor. It took 4 minutes of "relaxing" to figure out that they were all shot and I had no strength left.

So, while the rest of the tranguil, serene people stood gracefully up off the ground, I dragged my lifeless body off the mat, and quickly left the room sans dignity, like the college athlete that I am.

I guess I'm going back though. Lack of dignity and total humiliatation comes second nature to a mommy of three under 5. I mean, honestly, it was just another hour in the life of Jessica Garland, right?

Exactly.