I do not play well with others. The last time I attended a yoga class I was a star until the next day when my back was so screwed up I was crippled for the better part of a month. Also, in those classes, the teacher will say something like “Put your right hand on your left knee” and I freeze. Which one is my left hand? Where is my knee? Wait, wait. And then I fall over and start crying.
Consequently, I do my yoga (and what is the correct verb for yoga? Do? Practice? Perform? Interpret? Whatever.) I do my yoga all by myself in the Quiet Room at my YMCA. The Quiet Room is perfect for me, no hearty jock-types yucking it up or overly spandexed young ladies thrusting in my vicinity. Just me and those like me, stretching and creaking and being left alone. People occasionally read the paper in there in between their crunches. Just what I want, a gym that has the ambiance of a small branch library. I tore my hamstring a couple of years ago and it still hurts sometimes, so it’s nice to have an environment where mediocre physical ability is no big deal.
This is so Not Me.