Crouching Pretzel, hidden Ostrich

My left leg was attempting to stretch itself over my right shoulder, my neck bent at an awkward angle and my right hand was numb with pins and needles just starting to set in. Over the speakers I could hear the Ohmming of Budapest monks mixed in with the real breaking wave sounds of the ocean right in front of me, on the shore where my rubber mat was parked on wet grass, suffocating under the weight of my floating pretzel, crouching ostrich positioned body.

I’m speaking of, naturally, my yoga class which began for the first time earlier this evening. I arrived twenty minutes late which is completely not surprising and very much expected when you’re me. It’s physically impossible for me to be on time for anything I want to be on time for. There were so many yoga class attendees, that the Yoga teacher didn’t even notice. I’m going to break off right there to ask something. What are we meant to call these people? J. No suggested that we call them Yogatarians, the attendees. Would that make the Ring Leader Head Yogi? I think that’s what it will be from here on in.

Anyway, so despite having to ‘open my palms to the universe’ or ‘draw the energy in’ and then ‘imagine my body mass moulding into the mat’, or ‘thanking the birds, trees and ocean for being one with me’ it wasn’t half bad, okay. The bit at the end when I had to do half a mini somersault and then freeze while praying to something or other made me feel very zen-like. Especially the ‘Namaste’ chanting. But listen, I was lucky enough to have a nice venue, you know? Like on the beach in the open air and stuff. What do Jo’burg people pray to when they do yoga? The smog, concrete and traffic sounds? Not kiff, bru. I’m glad I’m a Durbanite Yogatarian. Even if I look ridiculous in what I have dubbed “the Crouching Pretzel, hidden Ostrich Position”.

So, that’s that. I’m taking the piss, but I’m sold. I’ll definitely go back next week. Right now I feel like going to kiss my pot plants good night before I burn some incense.