The class that I ended up taking was Heated Power Yoga. If you have followed this blog, I am terrible at yoga. I am not flexible or quiet. I would never sign up for something called Heated Power Yoga on my own accord.
I walked into the class. Per usual, it was hot, so nothing seemed amiss. I set up my mat (i.e. unroll it) and look around. It seemed a little weird to me that no one had weights next to them, but I wrote it off in my head. "We will probably just be doing a crazy amount of push-ups today. No need for free weights." My flawed logic didn't end there.
The class started. The instructor gave no speech about lifting exercises, but I reassured myself that there was no need for an explanation since there were no weights. Or, maybe she recognized us all from previous classes and knew we knew what we were doing. Of note, I had never had her as an instructor, so this conjecture was particularly baseless.
The music started and we began doing yoga stretches. Not unusual. The class usually starts with five minutes of this before the music amps up and we get going. Ten minutes go by...man, why are we still doing yoga?
The music started to pick up, but not in that blaring Ludacris type of way that it should for this class. It was more like amping up from Enya to John Mayer. We also weren't doing jumping jacks or push ups. WTF? Herein lies one of my problems with yoga. I couldn't just lean over and ask the person next to me what was going on. Embarassment aside, I am just supposed to keep my mouth shut and not kill anyone else's meditative vibe.
Fast forward 35 minutes. We are doing some aggressively advanced yoga...or, basic yoga. I can't tell the difference. It is all well above my skill level. Anyhow, I looked at the clock and realized that I may as well beat everyone to the shower and get ready to go back to work. Obviously, I stumbled into the wrong class. Luckily, as I try to do when I take classes, I had positioned myself by the door. I slithered out. I decided that the smoothest thing to do was to just leave my mat and stuff in the studio so as not to draw attention to myself while leaving. Another poor choice.
I head to the locker room to take a quick shower. I get out and get ready. I step out, but unfortunately, the class still has two minutes left. Shit. This is awkward. I paced outside the studio in the lounge area (not looking weird at all) until class was dismissed and scurried in to get my mat. The instructor rushed over to me and informed me that she was very alarmed because I just disappeared during class. I think she was exaggerating her sense of alarm because she obviously didn't feel the need to check on me. She was super worried in that kind of way where you take zero action and do zero follow up? I think the more honest statement from her would have been, "I was mildly curious about where you went, but figured you would come back for your shit."
I explained to the instructor that I had to hustle back to work. I didn't want to tell her that I blatantly signed up for the wrong class, and her class is actually how I envision my hell. Nothing against the class or the studio - I'm sure it was lovely for the yogis. One man's hell is another man's delightful lunch hour.I returned to my office that day rather defeated. I checked Classpass to learn that I had taken half of a Heated Power Yoga class instead of my beloved sculpt class.
I have no pictures from this adventure. Embarrassment and bitterness doesn't photograph well for me no matter what filter I use. As a result, I just provided a completely random one for aesthetics. I hope you like
my dog.
