Yoga.

I really enjoy yoga. I took prenatal yoga classes when I was pregnant (obviously) and was thrilled when I learned that our new gym has yoga classes at night. My favorite part of the class is the last 5 minutes during the “restoration” part. You lay on your back and let all your energy out.

Usually? Usually my mind is free, I don’t think about anything, just relax. But today, all I could do was compose a blog entry about The Worst Yoga Patron Ever.

Let me break it down for you. Here’s a tip for all of my readers (all two of you) who believe a yoga class is in your future. Carefully consider your attire. The Worst Yoga Patron Ever (or TWYPE) was wearing wind pants and a polo shirt. Not exactly the best choice.

She stationed herself behind me, and to the right so she was directly in my line of sight in the mirror. I was a little nervous when, while sitting cross-legged before class started, she was bouncing her knees up and down, causing her wind pants to make a SWISHing sound.

swish. swish. swish.

You can imagine. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, and figured she was just stretching out her hip muscles. Surly she would stop once the class started.

She didn’t.

We began class sitting, back straight, legs folded in front of us. There she was, in my line of sight in the mirror, bouncing.

swish. swish. swish.

Not only was she bouncing her legs, she was rocking back and forth. The light shone into the darkened room from the gym beyond the doors, and I could see her blond hair sticking out from the sides of her head.

swish. swish. swish. rock. rock. rock.

I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. Yoga forces every other thought from my mind, except those focused on the poses I’m attempting. At least it did until Swishy McSwish-a-lot joined the class. No matter. I’ll just force myself to concentrate. It’ll be a good way to improve my focus.

We did a few poses, then moved into the tree pose.

Because my balance isn’t great yet, I can only put my foot to the side of my knee. But, some of the more experienced students can place their foot all the way to their crotch.

Swishy was trying that.

And failing miserably. The point of the pose, at least from what I believe, is to balance. TWYPE was flopping all around. She could NOT keep her balance. Here I am, trying to focus on my balance, and Swishy McGee behind me is all flailing arms and stomping feet. She kept losing her balance and dropping her foot to the ground with a thud. And, remember, wind pants.

Swish. swish. swish. THUD.

It was awesome. By now I’m annoyed. If you’ve never taken a class, don’t try to do what the instructor is doing.

We come to the end of the class after multiple falls from McSwish-er-ton behind me. We’re laying on our backs, spine straight and long, focused. Then I hear it.

swish. swish. swish. Swish-a-lop-o-lous is rocking her feet back and forth. And now she’s breathing heavy. Must be from all the flailing about.

swish. grunt. swish. grunt.

I gave up on trying to relax and lay there, just amazed at the sounds this woman is making.

uuugh. swish. ahhh. swish.

Oh sweet jesus on a cracker, I hope she’s not there tomorrow night.

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