Namast–hey what class am I in?


I’ve got this weird little quirk. When I get anxious, I start vomiting. Uncontrollably if not medicated. It’s called Cyclical Vomiting Syndrome. Now, I’m not saying that I start tossing my cookies if like, the Red Line’s running a 10-minute delay or they’re out of cherry Jell-O in the cafeteria. No, I get leveled when planning for big events and big visits. Example: seeing friends I haven’t seen in a long time. Hey, I said it was a weird quirk. Take Thanksgiving 2005. I had my family and some of my fiancé’s family coming. About 14 people in all and to boot (er, pun unintended), I was on the hook for brining and roasting a turkey. I spent Thanksgiving Eve 2005 curled up on the bathroom floor making sweet, sweet love to an American Standard.

Considering that the wedding merges both of my yak factors—big event, big visit—I’ve decided to be proactive. As such, I’m cutting down on things that could get me riled up and incorporating things that reduce my urge to throw up. To that end, I began taking yoga last night. Signed up for a beginner class at a studio right down the street. A few years ago, I took a short course down in West Palm Beach, but don’t remember much about it except that I found it very relaxing and I got nicely toned arms. (Double wedding bonus!)

So it was slightly disconcerting when I overheard other students walking into the studio saying “This is Fire Lotus level, right?” to which other students responded, “Yeah, I think so.” Um, squeeze me? Fire Lotus? I’m quite certain that doesn’t sound like a beginner level class. In fact I’m fairly sure I’m supposed to be in a class called Not-Yet-Smoldering Cuddle Blossom or Slight-Smell-of-Smoke Poofy Pansy or something like that. Once everyone settled onto their mats and the scheduling confusion was publicly aired, it turned out that the roughly 19 other folks were all advanced yogis. And then there was me. (Hey, they may be able to levitate on their pinkie toes, but clearly only one of us can read an updated course schedule. Zing! Am I right? Eh? Eh?)

After I offered to come back some other time so they could all do whatever it is you do when your bones can rubberize on cue, they were terribly nice and agreed to turn the class into a workshop so they could help each other improve on their flower-igniting yoga ability while the instructor dummed everything down for my level. The class turned out to be great. Everyone was very kind and several classmates were extremely generous in offering to help me with the poses. And when the instructor asked us to close our eyes and imagine one thing we hoped to achieve through our yoga practice, I’d have bet money I was the only one thinking, “a vomit-free wedding.”


Above illustration from Phrizbie Design.


5 Responses to “Namast–hey what class am I in?”

  1. I-66 Says:

    [record scratch]

    A REAL turkey?!

  2. Lemmonex Says:

    No joke, I took a yoga class and the instructor asked if I was dyslexic. It was definitely stress inducing, not alleviating.

  3. Roosh Says:

    How about not eating any solid food a day before your wedding.

  4. Bridal Bird Says:

    I-66–I know. I’m sure being up to my elbows in a pot rotating a turkey didn’t help me any. In fact even having to read the word “giblets” probably didn’t help me any.

    Lemmonex–Egads. I thought yoga instructors were all required to be nice!

    Roosh–Doesn’t matter. This delightful scenario has happened at the end of a day where my entire intake was two light beers. Although doctors do think that cheese can set it off. So you have a good point: no cave-aged cheddar the day before the wedding.

  5. I-66 Says:

    I just think it means there may be hope for you yet.

    Don’t make me send you another tofurkey ecard.

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