Namaste, Bitches

A week before I began my first job out of college, my boss emailed me to let me know that a group of co-workers took a yoga class every week, and I was welcome to join.

So I went to Ross and bought myself my first yoga mat.

When the day arrived, I donned my sweatpants, because at the time I had not a clue that such a thing as “yoga pants” even existed. I was clueless. Well, to be fair, I was fresh out of college so I was clueless about a lot more than yoga apparel, but this is neither here nor there.

I loved yoga.

It was a private group class, so I never felt embarrassed if I couldn’t master a tough pose or if I needed to take a break.

But then, I got a new job in Santa Monica. Now, Santa Monica may have more yoga than nearly any other city in California, and so you’d almost think I’d have no excuses.

But if that's what you thought, surely you don't know me well enough. My first issue was that there were so many choices. Within a block of my new office, there were about eight different yoga studios. EIGHT! But I overcame that hurdle – after doing some reading, I picked one.

And it turned me to jelly. I got through each pose by convincing myself I’d stop before the next one. I’d just roll up my mat and leave. But then I’d somehow find myself in the next pose, and the next. And eventually, mercifully, the class was over. And I felt more stressed. Sure, there were a couple ounces of “accomplishment” mixed into my stress, but I couldn’t help but think, No, no, that was not fun. Not fun at all. So I walked my jellied ass to Pinkberry to wash away the memories of the crowded, incense-scented, sweaty, clammy yoga.

And then I never went back.

Still, tonight, almost two years later, I am heading to yoga. A friend of mine is teaching her first class tonight, and it just so happens to be at my gym. So I’m going. And I don’t know why I am not excited instead of mostly nerves mixed with a bit of excitement. After all, I know a lot more about yoga than I did right out of college – not only do I now know about the proper attire, but I actually OWN $100 yoga pants from LuluLemon. (I bought them with all the money I saved by not taking yoga classes in the past two years.)

I’m nervous I won’t be able to keep up and I’ll look dumb. So, in keeping with my lesson from basketball, I need to give myself a little pep talk.

Self, you can do this. You’ve been working out. You are stronger than you used to be. And if the other yogis judge you for collapsing during cobra pose, who really cares? You're the one wearing $100 yoga pants after all!)

**Editor's note: After having now lived on the West Side of L.A. for several years, I know I am surely not the only one wearing LuLuLemons. But hey, whatever it takes to make me feel good, amiright?!