Tuesday was the first day of term for my yoga class and it was like starting big school again. We were in a new, bigger building, with people who were almost all new to me. Added to that, courtesy of Gorgeous Godson’s lovely mum, I had my own yoga mat. No more borrowing from teacher. (The equivalent of borrowing PE kit from the lost property box, a practice which seems so wrong now. Actually, it felt wrong at the time too. Bleugh.)
So anyway, I went into the shiny new room with the shiny new people and unrolled my shiny new yoga mat. Then a man came in – an older, portly gentleman with a rather tight tshirt. We will call him Mr Feet. I turned away for one minute, turned back and Mr Feet was STANDING ON MY MAT. My nice, shiny, purple mat.
I don’t like feet. I hate them. I will not go near anyones feet, ever. And Mr Feet had hairy ones with gnarly nails. And they were on my mat. He didn’t even move when I tried to subtly shift the mat. I decided (possibly a little unfairly) that I didn’t like him. When he eventually removed himself and put his mat next to mine, I turned mine over – you didn’t think I’d put myself where his feet had been did you? – and the class started. In yoga you breathe in and out through your nose. I can only assume Mr Feet had a cold as he sounded snorty. For an hour and a half.
And then….at the bit at the end where you lay down and relax – my favourite part, he obviously relaxed a lot. Because he started snoring! Grrrrrr. I think I was more stressed by the time I finished the class than I was beforehand.
Next week I will be very careful where I position myself. And it will be nowhere near Mr Feet :o)