Never Underestimate a Good Headstand and the Power of Pretending

Why are some people destined to always fall into one embarrassing moment after another like some sort of neverending domino effect?  The moment you think you have your life in a semblance of put togetherness is when BAM, no thank you ma’am, unfortunately for you, you do not, and what you perceived as being the solid, well spoken, ahead of your game you that you hoped was your reality, was instead an imaginative conjuring because you are the type of person who volunteers to host a bridal shower, designs the invitations, sends the invitations, carefully writes down the RSVPs before making what feels like endless amounts of phone calls to reserve a room with clusters of smushed together tables that have been sitting lonely and waiting for your event to take place, but the whole time you were making a pretty big mistake that would determine the outcome of such an event if gone unnoticed.  All that complaining about why restaurants were being so difficult and how could they afford to be that way in this economy no less.  You do remember saying the correct date, you even wrote it down in your spiral notebook, circled it a few times for emphasis, but the wrong month was said as well which would make the reservation occur a year from now. Now you understand why the waiter had sounded so confused.  Why would you be making a reservation a year in advance at a sports bar?  You probably could just walk in on the same day with your party of 13 and all would be ok, but that’s not what you did, that’s not what was done.  You called, you gave the date of May 23rd, instead of August 23rd.  You scoffed when your request was met with confusion and stammers and to top it off you didn’t realize the mistake until almost a full week later.  Your befuddled brain going over and over the conversations you have had with the myriad of restaurant workers and why weren’t they calling you back to confirm said reservation.  It’s only three weeks away, you thought.  And then it hits you, sideswipes the few brain cells that you have left swimming somewhere in that cranium of yours, that the date was not only completely wrong, but wasn’t even in the same year.

Then the anxiety drops sharper than ever before.  Do I really have to make another phone call?  They are all so terrifyingly embarrassing.  My stomach dropped as I searched my email sent folder and just what I had expected; the emails I sent to restaurants that I just could not stomach contacting via phone also said the same date, May 23rd and not August.  Cue the self loathing, miles and miles of it threatening to drown me in its green sludge of sayings like, “what an idiot I am,” “how can one person be this stupid,” you get the idea.

Such a person should not be left to their own devices; such a person certainly should not volunteer to take a new type of yoga class, in a different country, with an instructor who she is pretty sure has seen through what she has only hoped appeared to be a shield of something.  Maybe confidence? Maybe mystery? But in all actuality, thin yoga man only saw a 40 something sweaty girl who was trying too hard to be a version of a someone that she most assuredly was not.

Guided Ashtanga.  That’s what the class was called.  And the description sounded simple enough.  It’s a yoga where the breath is synchronized during a series of progressive postures.  You will improve your circulation, create a light and strong body, and a calm mind.  I ask you reader, does such a class sound hard to you?

Just to let you know, all things new create an intense anxiety for me that begins in my brain and radiates to my gut.  My mouth becomes dry, my hands shake, and I will do the opposite of what is expected, but this class seemed to be more about breath work than anything else.

A few glasses of wine was needed of course.  Liquid fuel.  And I was off.

The class was not easy and I should have known this.  I should have known as soon as fit yoga man saw me, raised an eyebrow or two, and then quietly asked, “Have you taken Ashtanga before?”

Needless to say, Ashtanga yoga is way more than simple breath work.  I twisted and turned my body further than I have ever done before and fit yoga man helped.  It wasn’t just me he helped of course, it was everyone in the class, but when I say everyone, I’m talking about petite bendy girls.  Girls who I didn’t see a drop of sweat form on their youthfully plump skin.  Not one in fact.  While my yoga mat looked like I had dredged it up from the bottom of the ocean.

At the end of the 90 minute class, my back hurt and so did my arms, and my brain for that matter from just trying to not completely humiliate myself. Fit yoga man went around the room to assist the other yogis with different postures.  All of the women, except me of course, did a complete back bend, the girl sitting next to me didn’t even really need his help.  I watched her ribs poke from her stomach as her head went behind her knees and her hands quietly landed on the floor and then I quickly looked down at my own mat.  Surely he would not think I could attempt such a feat of what appeared to me to be quite otherworldly.  He had seen my performance in the class thus far and let me tell you, it was far from stellar.

I thought I was home free from further humiliation, I really did, but I made the mistake of looking up, locking eyes with fit yoga man.  Damn it, I thought.  He looked at me with a dark determined eye as he motioned in my direction.  

“Let’s do a headstand,” he confidently stated.

Now I have attempted headstands before, using a wall as my support, but they have been half hearted at best.  It’s just not me.  I like the idea of yoga, the stretching, being zen. I love how it makes your body form positions that are challenging, yet doable, but a headstand?  I don’t think so and that’s what I told him, I don’t think so.  But he didn’t even stutter before saying right back to me, “Yup we’re doing it.”

I will tell you I did that damn headstand.  It wasn’t great.  He held my long legs, which felt 10 times longer as I hoisted them over my head, praying that he would catch them and trying to not envision how I looked amongst the other yogis. A baby elephant with wobbly legs trying to stand straight, but upside down or at least that's how I saw myself.  

Thankfully he did catch my legs and I stayed headstanding unassisted for probably .000003 seconds, but at least I did it I suppose.

I felt a high after the class actually.  Doing something that I had never thought possible for myself.  I wanted to hug fit yoga man for pushing me to accomplish a fear.  I didn’t of course, but I did tell him how much I enjoyed his class.  He didn’t seem nearly as pleased with my progression as I was and isn’t that to be expected?  He actually began telling me about Ashtanga yoga, but I saw the glaze form over his eyes like he expected to never see me again and why was he wasting his breath explaining such a thing to this bleach blonde, slow speaking, imbalanced dud of a human being and I don’t exactly disagree with his synopsis of me.  I would probably think the same thing if I was him.

But I have learned what to do in a situation where said glaze begins to form over the eyes of the person you are talking.  Sadly, this has happened to me more than once.  I grimaced out a smile, slightly nodded my head, and told him thanks again, and quickly made my way outside to freedom, a heavy sigh escaping my lips as I did so.

If I haven’t gotten the whole having your life together at this point I don’t think I ever will, so I just need to embrace the fact that I’m awkward, embrace the fact that I am directionally challenged, embrace the fact that I have an unhealthy amount of anxiety and self loathing, embrace the fact that things will never come naturally or easily for me and maybe there’s a lesson in all that.  At least I know who I am and that really says a lot because for many years I hadn’t a clue and maybe most people don’t; maybe most people are just pretending they have it all together.  I just wish I was a better pretender.