Yoga Klutz

Before I begin, I feel I must tell you that in no way am I soliciting sympathy or reassurance.

You know those posts on Facebook or whatever, that say I'm ugly or Im miserable and sometimes it is just a way for people to get reassurance from others? (by the way, doing that is totally fine-it's Ok to ask for reassurance)

This is not that type of thing. I am just writing a simple truth, that I totally and completely accept as just being a part of who I am.

Here is one of my favorite SpongeBob episodes, mainly for the beginning, where Plankton yells out

"I can deny it no longer! I am small."



I can deny it no longer:  I am a klutz.

Take a few Winter's back. I had come back from walking the dog as B just finished using this ice chipper roofing tool thing to completely clear the large concrete area in our back yard.

I walked up the stairs and beheld him in the Winter sunshine, standing tall with a roofing tool in his hand like the staff of some Greek god. He was finished, he was smiling hugely-very proud of himself at his accomplishment.

Chipping and clearing a 4 inch think sheet of ice that is probably 10 square feet in diameter is no little feat.

I got to the top step, congratulated him and tripped, knocking over a small brick wall that stood on the side of our gate, spewing brick and bits of mortar all over his freshly cleaned surface.

B told me to get inside, I stumbled in, not looking at him because I didn't want him to see how hard I was laughing.

I do shit like that all the time.

The only time you will ever see me move in a graceful fashion is at the beehive. You have to move the bee boxes, which weigh about 20-50 pounds each and are full with irritated stinging insects, in a very careful, gentle way so as to not anger them further.

I do that well, but to be honest, the bees leave me little choice-move us gently and gracefully or we sting your fucking face. And everyone else's face that may be nearby.

I can't dance. I won't dance unless it's sarcastically. If you ask, I will say no thanks. If you try to drag me onto the dance floor. I will hit you.  In the mouth. It's a simple fact.

And it's OK.

One time I went with a friend, a friend from work whom I used to think sometimes would take me out with her to make herself look good, to a cardio kickboxing class.

What a fucking nightmarish mess that was. I couldn't keep in sync with the class, I was so out of shape that I couldn't keep up, and my friend had me terrified. She kept saying to me, "You can't stop in the middle, you'll pass out!" So I stumbled along, flailing my arms and legs in pathetic half kicks, surrounded by svelte young nymphs high kicking in unison and punching the air in glory.

My half ass attempts made them look awesome.

I have not been to an exercise class since. It has been 13 years.

I started going to a gym with my friend Heather, you know, Heather Jean from this post from last year:

http://nicrophorus.blogspot.com/2012/02/poem-and-haiku-for-heather-jean.html

It's great-she gets me in on her membership.

Most mornings that I plan on going with her, I call to check in. In my head I'm saying, "Please say no, please say no"

When she says she can't go I am happy, because I hate to exercise. When she says yes, I am even happier because I know that if I do get off my ass for a bit, I'll feel much better for the rest of the day.

I'm even getting a little better at the abdominal strengthening exercises we do after the treadmill. Either that or I'm realizing that nobody is looking, nobody gives a shit about some uncoordinated broad in the corner who can't do a plank to save her life.

Next week, I'm actually going to go with Heth to a hot yoga class. That should be interesting.

I can totally see myself somehow tripping and knocking over several people who are in precariously balanced  and complicated yoga positions. I will most likely be very worried about farting while everyone is quiet and contemplative.

Shit, now that is all I'm going to be thinking of for that entire class, so I'll probably be falling over, trying not to think or laugh about farts when I'm supposed to be in a serene downward dog or what ever they call it.

It's OK though because no matter what, I'm going to make Heth look awesome.