Yoga is the activity where former high school suck ups graduate to.

I've decided this.

Step aerobics is where the ex-cheerleaders wind up. Let's face it-only former cheerleaders would be able to tolerate that kind of environment-"And one! And two! And right! And left! Keep going, that's excellent people! Woohooooooooo!" Step aerobics was made for ex-cheerleaders, I attended one class and vowed never to go back, not just because I'm the most un-coordinated woman known to mankind, but also because extracting the pom-pom that spontaneously grew out of my ass was pretty difficult.

Treadmills are for the ex-student council folk. Secretary? Former treasurer? You'll be on the treadmill for over an hour watching Sky News and tracking the ticker on the bottom of the screen. God help us if you're the ex-president-you'll be on the cross trainer for about 6 hours, pushing yourself on the hardest possible setting and tracking every burnt calorie.

But yoga is where the old kiss-ups gather. It is also the proving ground for those who graduated from the Drama Club, after that fabulous production of Lil Abner that their class did (You can almost hear them- And wasn't it a hoot that Lil Abner was still able to run despite being one of the most politically incorrect shows ever? Wasn't that cast party the bestest?) Yoga is a single gathering place for Those Who Have Holes In Their Security Complex.

And I do love me some yoga.

I dropped out of yoga almost a year ago, when we went to New Zealand and the Cook Islands-we were gone over three weeks and when we came back, we moved into our new house. The work load included in that move was incredible-ripping out carpets, sanding down floors, painting every room…it was clear that the gym wouldn't be utilized for some while, and add on to that the IVF cycles-about the last thing in the world you want to do while going through IVF treatment is bend over. You get so swollen and sore that someone could throw a £50 note in front of you and you'd just leave it there (or use your freakishly long toes if you're me.)

But Angus and I have sworn to lose weight this year (and we've each lost over 3 kg already (that's almost 7 pounds) and more to go) and he's joined a gym. I've been ferrying between meetings a lot and haven't joined it myself yet, but I went for a power yoga class on Sunday. This was my first yoga class in about 11 months. I had been desperate to try power yoga for ages, and it turns out Angus' gym has it. So I suited up and went. I was a bit ass backward about it-I thought that power yoga was the same as hot yoga, or kundalini yoga, which I've been dying to do. Turns out power yoga is the bog standard ashtanga yoga I'd been doing (along with hatha yoga, or what most people think of as "normal" yoga).

And dear God-the kissing up went to whole new levels.

I thought Reena was bad (remember her?). I thought that Reena was about as awful and painful and sicky sweet as it got. I figured Reena was a one-off like a calf born with six legs, or at least some kind of anomaly, like that one bad kosher pickle you get in a jar of precious Vlassic. I would be wrong on both counts there.

The new gym is sparkly and bright-it looks like a city loft on steroids. Walking in to the ladies' changing room, I run into two women wearing tiny, tight fitting workout outfits. They are the walking, talking definition of hard bodies. Their stomachs went for the value 12 packs, leaving the 6 packs in the dust. I immediately knew that they would be in my yoga class.

I wasn't wrong on that one.

In the yoga room everyone is wearing very little clothing. Now, in kundalini yoga, this is what you're supposed to do. In ashtanga and hatha yoga you wear loose-fitting clothing and bring warmer clothes with you for the cool down and meditation. So there I was in a tank top, spare sweatshirt, and yoga pants. I was dressed like a grandma compared to most of the room (apart from the instructor, who apparently wanted to shield the wider world from the ghastly vision of her pale winter flesh as much as I did.) I took a space in the back of the room, as I find starting new activities in new places to be pretty stressful, and I don't like calling attention to myself (this despite me being a kiss-up in the drama club in high school. What can I say, I was desperate for approval and acceptance. I'm in therapy. I'm al over it.)

But where there is yoga, there is a Reena.

Or in this class, there were five of them.

The Hardbody Twins naturally took two of those spaces. The Hardbody Twins made me feel insecure, as most people with good figures do. This is why it's best I don't work in LA or anything like that, it's a pretty slippery anorexic slope for me. I was later exposed to the Hardbody Twins in the dressing room-their undergarments were mere triangles held together by pieces of string. My Kleenex has more material on them than their bras and knickers do. I was reminded of the recent size D issues I'd dealt with a number of times.

There were also two other hardcore devotees-their bodies weren't perfect and their forms were pretty crap, but they didn't care. They were in the front row, they had constant contact with the instructor, and spending time around them made me wonder if I'd have time between fifth and sixth periods to dash to my locker as I forgot my chemistry book. I was exhausted with the high school feelings.

The worst of it was-for once-a guy. There was a guy in the class that I swear would have been the most perfect Mr. Reena ever. Before class started he was whipping his body around into contortions, naturally clad in the tightest of shorts. When class started it just got worse-ashtanga uses ujjayi breathing in between the poses (which are constant in motion, and in between them all you do a pattern of moves called a vinyasna. This is maybe all too much info for you, but just imagine this pattern of moves, and by the end of the class the pattern of moves has you so tired you might pay people to do them for you.) Ujjayi breathing is done through the nose, but you have to close your throat a bit, so that at best you sound like a Sleestack, at worst you sound like a can of shaving foam. Mr. Reena and his ujjayi breathing were so loud that I wondered if I should offer some Sucrets to Darth Vader-the sound of his breathing drowned every single sound out. I debated asking him if he'd had his adenoids out yet, or if that was something he should explore.

And when the instructor asked for a demo of the headstand (which I cannot do, never have been, never will be able to, and frankly I'm ok with that) she looked to Mr. Reena.

"Mr. Reena," she started (he had a real name, but it's immaterial to me), "If you could, please show the group how to do the headstand."

"Absolutely," he laughed. "but it's hard!"

"Oh you can just do half of the pose, that'll be fine."

"No no!" he shot back in a panic. "'I'll do the whole thing! I can do it! The whole thing'll be fine! Watch, I can do it!"

Jesus Christ on a Pop-Tart. Would someone give this guy a cuddle already, help him work out his issues. Or at the very least, then YES let's confirm that we'll watch him come down the slide and then he can shut up already.

He goes into the headstand in a way that I wasn't familiar with. It's clear he's in his element. This is his big moment. Nothing makes him feel as close to the spiritual one with the world as all of us watching him. When the rest of the class starts their headstands, I shrug in the back of the room and start it off the way I was taught-I can't stand on my head anyway, it's not like this is a big deal.

"You were taught the other way," remarks the instructor.

I stand up and nod. "Yeah, sorry."

"No that's no problem. Instructors are different!" she smiles.

Mr. Reena stares at me and my mutant fish white body. "I don't know how to do it that way," he says with a sneer.

Oh yeah, cupcake? You probably don't know how to suck dick like I do either, but you don't see me giving you grief about it.

And there you have it. I may or may not return to the class, although I feel the need to start up exercise at a gym again. I always thought that one Reena was enough. Emotionally, I think I'm too old to deal with five of them.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 10:27 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
Post contains 1562 words, total size 9 kb.

1 Ah, yes, I too have experienced the male version of Reena. He is frankly much more difficult for me to contend with than the female version. Not because of shows of strength and ego, but because of the damned breathing and tiny shorts and odd angles. I went to one studio twice and the same gent showed up to the same classes and wound up right next to me. The room was literally not big enough for the both of us. Typically, my experiences are much more positive, but I've had my moments. You'll keep going back to yoga anyway, right? At least maybe another studio?

Posted by: gigi at January 23, 2007 11:56 AM (O5wpD)

2 My last yoga class dissolved after a massive fart by fat lady. Reena(s) might have been preferable...LOL

Posted by: kenju at January 23, 2007 02:59 PM (L8e9z)

3 I think one Reena is one too many for the whole damn world.

Posted by: cursingmama at January 23, 2007 03:00 PM (PoQfr)

4 Isn't sad that most adults are no better than children? I am always amazed when I attend a school program and the children are supposed to remain quiet during the other class performances, yet most of the adults talk non-stop during the whole thing (until it is their kid's turn-all of a sudden they find the ability to shut their mouth). I expect it from kids-after all it is what kids do. Adults, not so much. Ditto on the 'approval' so many mothers try to get from the teacher. Sorry. Bad day yesterday. Totally understand your emotional tiredness of these kind of people. Cursingmama, you said it. This is why I do my yoga in my living room, and take low-impact aerobics with an instructor and class whose median age is that of my mother, as well as an adorable couple older than my grandparents. To them, even at 33 and not in the best of shape, I am a "cute young thing". Gotta love that for the ego.;-)

Posted by: Teresa at January 23, 2007 03:02 PM (kcGpG)

5 Yeah, I always laugh when inevitably a yoga instructor says that yoga isn't a competitive sport. Right. Tell that to the Reena's of the yoga world.

Posted by: donna at January 23, 2007 04:39 PM (e2lwS)

6 I'm starting to feel pretty fortunate about my yoga class. Yipes. I've only been going for two weeks, and last week it was just the instructor and I. On a weird note, I met my yoga instructor through flickr.

Posted by: Opal at January 23, 2007 06:16 PM (YntXV)

7 And I do believe this post is the prime reason why I am MUCH too self conscious to actually try my hand at taking my out of shape ass to a yoga class. I've wanted to for quite some time, but it just seems so contrived in some ways.

Posted by: Terry at January 24, 2007 12:31 AM (YadGF)

8 I don't mean to make you feel bad, Helen, but it is entirely possible that he can actually s**k d**k better than you can, based on the description you provided. Don't let it make you feel insecure, though!

Posted by: RP at January 24, 2007 04:23 PM (LlPKh)

9 I took a 12 week Yoga course once (once) and the people there were all too crunchy granola for me.....The instructor was a vegan Yoga Natzi and honestly I really don't care what the color of my aura is.....not that there is anything wrong with that.

Posted by: Heidi at January 24, 2007 04:26 PM (tXzvX)

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