My first, and last, yoga class until Friday was a few years ago at an athletic club in Jackson, WY. I should note that it was also my first time in an athletic club. It was a big day for me. A lot of my friends were members of this club and I had a free trial so I had nothing to lose.

My first impression was that it was a strange place full of sweaty people huffing and grunting as they battled machines that resembled medieval torture devices. I finally spotted a machine that looked familiar. Aha! A treadmill. I’d been on one of those before. Granted it was when I was about 10 and my friend and I would take turns sitting on a pillow while the other turned the treadmill on full speed to shoot the pillow riding person across the room. I remembered that as being pretty fun so I thought the treadmill was a pretty safe bet for me to try.

I got on, pushed a button and started moving at a brisk walk. Easy peasy but a bit boring. Then I noticed the row of tv’s lining the wall in front of me. Ohhhh, perfect. It was a bit awkward to watch as I had to tilt my head up to see the screen. This motion, combined with my attempts to read the closed captioning scrolling across the screen, diverted my focus from what my feet were doing and before I knew it I’d lost my balance and was sprawled on the floor. I decided that riding on the treadmill was much more fun than exercising on it.

A quick survey of the gym lead me to the conclusion that I had absolutely no idea what to do with any of the other equipment and as I had no desire to further my humiliation it was time to go. I was just bolting out the door when I ran into two friends on their way in for a yoga class. Before I knew it, I was back inside and in my first yoga class. I’d heard all about yoga, but never thought it really fit my personality. I don’t exactly radiate zen. After the rat race of the gym though, it sounded perfectly delightful. In fact, the more I thought about it the more I liked the idea of an hour spent in serenity and reflective meditation.

Then the instructor, a fifty-something hippie dude, launched into an hour and a half lecture about how we should be living our lives (no television, no meat, no booze) while leading us through a series of body contortions that I’m pretty sure my body was not built to do. So much for my hour of zen. If that was yoga, I wanted nothing to do with it.

And I stuck to my guns until this Friday when I attended a class called Yin Yoga; a type of yoga focused on maintaining poses, controlling breathing and slowing down your mind. I’ll admit I was a bit skeptical about spending an hour stretching and taking deep breaths with a bunch of random strangers. I’d even heard that all that stretching could lead to wayward farts. And at first it was a bit weird. I’m not flexible or graceful so I felt like an elephant in a room of yoga goddesses. The instructor encouraged us to relax but how was I supposed to do that when I was simultaneously sucking-in my muffin top, worrying that I might fart and trying not to fall over? Gradually it became too hard to focus on measured breathing, holding the poses AND judging myself so I just let go and went with it. In fact, by the end of the class I was drifting off on a pleasant daydream. My worries were gone and I was one with the world. Clouds wafted across a blue sky and waves crashed on the beach. I floated in a….Wait.

The reverie faded and was replaced by the sound of snores. Was that coming from me?? Nope. It was coming from the yoga goddess to my left (who’s the elephant now!). I stifled a laugh and felt a wave of triumph–I’d managed to complete the class without seriously embarrassing myself AND accomplished the class mission of becoming relaxed through breathing and stretching. Miracles do happen.