Day 28 A Good Mennonite Girl Breaks the Silence
Posture number 14, of the 26 in the Bikram series, is called Wind-Removing Pose (or Pavanamuktasana. I can’t say it, but I can spell it. Even if I couldn’t, who’d know??) It looks like this:
And if there’s any little effervescence hanging around your colon, let me tell you it’d take a bionic sphincter to keep it in. Hence the name.
But, fortunately this is not the silence I broke.
I shushed Ken and Barbie. Yes, I did.
It was the beginning of class, the initial savasana, and they were lying side by side, whispering and canoodling and giggling, all of which is strictly verboten.
Well, alright, there’s a bit of lee-way with the whole silence rule; sometimes newcomers aren’t sure where to put the mat (you might recall me mentioning this issue earlier) or they start to ask questions in a somewhat panicked sotto voce: “Is the fan broken? It’s not supposed to be this hot, is it? I think I’m going to throw up.” Etc.
So you quietly comfort and reassure them that yes, the heat is deliberate and no, they won’t puke if they shut up, lie still and breathe. But mostly, shut up.
But this was not the sort of twittering Ken and Barbie were doing. I tolerated it, breathing deeply, until suddenly, something inside me broke.
“SSSSSHHHHHH!!!!!”
I shocked myself. You see, I was not brought up to make waves. My biggest goal in childhod was to be invisible, to avoid the spotlight, to always run with my back against the wall, like a mouse in daylight. I did not run out in the open, with the popular crowd, and I certainly did not shush them.
It’s kind of a cultural thing; Mennonites may not have invented martyrdom, but we’ve certainly perfected it (we’ll claim mediocrity if you ask, however.) We may frown in silent judgement, but we don’t talk about people. Or even to people, unless they’re fellow Mennos. We endure. We suck it up. We huddle together and eat pie. And even though I haven’t been a good Mennonite girl for decades now, the lessons of early childhood are hard-wired in me.
So, while Ken and Barbie will never know who shushed them, I still felt like I’d broken through some psychological barrier in my little brain. Hey, it might be small but it’s my victory.
Erin Brockovich, kickin’ ass and takin’ names, that’s me.
Day 25 Yoga: Guaranteed Weight Loss!
It’s not really true. I have nothing new to report so I figured I’d find out if this really is the best way, aside from porn, to drive your blog traffic through the roof. (Naked Sweaty Boys was a big hit, but that’s as racy as I’m going to get.)
My hypothesis of yesterday is neither proven nor disproven, as I was unable to make it to the 9:15 am class today. I didn’t try. It seemed like a bad idea at the time. However, I went to the 3:30 class, so I can still confirm it tomorrow, if I so choose.
Then again, it’s my hypothesis. I can just call it truth and go to bed.
Day 22 Death Race 2011, School-Zone Style
I planned to go to a morning yoga class today, but after the school run, all I wanted to do was get off the road. Is everyone rushing out for free McDonalds coffee?? Are they all on crack?? (Are those two things related?)
Today I witnesssed the following:
-one driver clearing his windshield of ice, with his bare hand, WHILE HE WAS DRIVING.
-two drivers making left-turns without looking at on-coming traffic, and without there being a sufficient break in on-coming traffic to do so safely, which they’d have known if they’d looked. Which is probably why they didn’t.
-numerous drivers blasting right through the school cross-walk. Nice.
-one particularly unpopular lad, so determined to turn left out of the school parking lot that he had a line-up of at least 15 cars behind him, drivers growing more vocally irate by the millisecond. Turning RIGHT at that spot is a challenge. Left is usually impossible. One car finally squealed over the median to get around him. I’ve timed it: he waited longer than it takes to turn right and go all the way around the park with the lights.
-and the deadliest of all, teenagers. The first time I almost killed one, I was sitting at the afore-mentioned intersection, waiting to turn right out of the school parking lot, craning my neck to the left to find a break in the traffic, when I saw an opening. Inching forward at about 0.5 km/hr, suddenly, out of nowhere, a skateboarder whips around me from the sidewalk on the right, slamming his hand on my hood and grinning as he passed. HOLY $#!& I was wobbly for hours.
But then it happened again. And again, plus once with a kid on a bike. It’s never the same kid twice. I don’t get it. It’s not like they’re all getting killed; we’d have heard the sirens. It’s as if they have to take turns or something. Maybe there’s a roster. “Good news, Braydon/Hunter/Carter/Dylan, you’re up for Monday’s Idiot Skateboard Kid role. Good luck! Don’t forget to sign your organ donor card.”
But I’m on to them. Now I wait for the split-second when they’re almost in front of me, then I lean on the horn and watch them soil themselves. I hope I scare the crap out of them, ’cause they sure scare the crap out of me.