Snazzy pants make the magic happen

Isn’t it funny how you can look back on your own writing after only a short period of time and it sound like the burblings of an idiot? I’ve had a post on the back burner for a few days now. About how I’m going about attempting to judge others less and care less about how others judge me. A riveting topic, I’m sure you’ll agree. But then something lovely happened.

To begin at the beginning though: I’m attempting to rid myself of judgement and caring about judgement from others by actively not giving a shit. This, so far, has involved me popping down the shops in my mermaid pants (yep. As cool as they sound); singing full belt whilst driving, no matter the proximity of the car in front, how much the sun is directly lighting my face, or how much passers by are staring; and the latest in my arsenal, taking my home yoga practice to the gym.

Snazzy pants lead to a great yoga practice (probably)
Snazzy pants lead to a great yoga practice (probably)

This is where the magic happened.

I’m a fairly competent asana practitioner (I say asana (the physical postures within yoga) because I don’t actually think I’m a good yogi. I shout at inanimate objects far too much for this) and so my physical practice is fairly strong. Having been a victim of social media however, I’m generally not really aware of this fact and tend to put myself down. (This, folks, is why I’ve given up Instagram.) Practicing in a busy, muscle-flexing gym is a wholly different experience to that in a studio or in my house though. In the gym, I’m much more aware that I’m in a public space and, perhaps, this is the reason I push myself a little more and achieve more than I usually would have. My mental space is a little less than yogic too, with the clamour of typically intense (let’s be honest. It’s rubbish) gym tunes seeping through my headphones, and other gym folk wandering around lifting things and flexing in mirrors. Savasana, the end pose in all yoga practices in which one lies flat on your back and reaches a full point of relaxation, is particularly challenging as a: this definitely ISN’T what people do in gyms and b: someone might run off with your shoes.

The magic though. I’m getting to it.

As I mentioned, my practice is a little more frilly in the gym that it would have been at home. By frilly, I mean that I’m pulling off flying pigeon, full binds, and all sorts of inversions. But it wasn’t any of these poses which led to the magic. It was a combination of a surya namaskar, or sun salutations (a basic routine to warm up), and standing splits, a tricky pose and one I’m not much of a fan of/good at.

So here’s what happened. There I was, doing my thing, when a middle-aged woman interrupted me and told me how amazing I looked. Let me tell you honestly here folks that no one has ever stopped me to tell me how amazing I looked. Well, maybe a foolish bloke or two in a bar along the way (not ones you’d take home to your mother, let me assure you), but no one as fervently and as enthusiastically as my gym friend.

The woman went on to tell me that her and her friends practiced yoga, but her normal class in the gym we were in had been cancelled. And here’s the magic. I don’t know whether she was a loony, or easily impressed, who knows. But she asked me to teach her and her group.

Now, as I won’t be graduated from my yogi college for another six months, the gym won’t let me teach, so that’s out of the question. But to be asked? Ah! What a moment!

I suppose I’m telling you this so that you might not be as scared to go do YOUR thing in public. Whatever your thing is, go do it and wear some snazzy pants. You never know what might happen.

In the meantime, I’m off to the shops in nothing but a Halloween mask and some fluorescent green tights (not really, but what a lovely thought).

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