woman sitting in the street (Photo: Getty Images)
It’s 4:10 p.m. and my early evening yoga class is less than an hour away. I’ve been looking forward to shutting this laptop down all day, but for some reason my perfect excuse for sending my last email has now turned into a bit of an afterwork albatross.
You see, this is the time of day where I start to make excuses for not going to yoga class. Is it muscle soreness? Could it be a full social schedule? Regardless, rarely are they sufficient for missing class, but I think my excuses might actually be getting better—and that’s a problem. Here’s a few that have tipped the scales toward the couch, as of late. Help?
“I’ll do it from home.”
Curse the patron saints of YouTube for bequeathing such readily accessible, and well soundtracked yoga packages at the press of a button. For some reason or another, I now have the perfectly rationalized excuse of not driving halfway across town to be around other people and a real, breathing teacher, and settle for my home office/apartment/bedroom/yoga studio instead. That seems healthy and productive, right?
“I just ate.”
This one is multi-faceted. First, if we need 45 minutes for our stomachs to settle before we go swimming, how much time do you think we need before pulling off your first Bow Pose? I’m no digestion expert, but I’m putting that number at an hour and 15 minutes, minimum. From there, let’s consider proper fits for bloated bellies and the very real possibility that some of this digestion might be accompanied by noises and movements beyond our control. That’s enough for me to press the pause button—and pick up the second half of that sandwich.
“I’m looking for more of a workout.”
I’ll reach for this one whenever my masculinity is feeling particularly fragile. Yoga? How about back and chest day? I’m not here to stretch, I’m here to get a good sweat in and bulk up before ski season. This is a front, and probably my weakest one at that. What I’m really trying to say is that I’m still sore from last week, and that I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of strangers…again.
“New instructor? Hard pass.”
One of the more convenient excuses, a new instructor presents a different class dynamic, a variation in poses…and the perfect opportunity to bail. Change is hard, and when it comes to switching yoga teachers on me just when I’m starting to feel like I can make it through an entire class without wincing in pain, that sentiment is only amplified. Yoga is all about new beginnings and open communication, but when it comes to hearing that from someone I’ve never met before—I’m out.
“Running late. I can’t do the awkward walk in.”
I probably didn’t need to re-fold my laundry, but now I’m about to be five minutes late to class. By the time I grab my mat and blocks, class might already be moving through its first Vinyasa Flow. Meanwhile, I’ll be tiptoeing over gyrating bodies to the back corner of shame, hoping to avoid a catastrophic trip up and the ire of the more schedule conscious. Nope, I can’t handle that kind of pressure. I think I’m going to sit this one out. When’s class start tomorrow?
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