Dizzy up the girl

Day 3 of yoga didn't happen. At least not the way it was supposed to happen.

I was signed up for a lunch-time Kriya class. The studio description said the class would include "asanas," physical postures of relaxation; "bandahs," muscular locks; and "mudras," psycho-physical gestures, all of which bring about greater health, peace and the awakening of the principal energy channels, “the nadis,” and centers, the "chakras."

Yeah, I don't know what that means either. I have no idea what the class was about or what the goal was ... because I left after 15 minutes. Shocker, I know.

But here's the real shockers:

No. 1: The instructor arrived a few minutes shy of starting time wearing all black - from his lululemon top (bastard) to his sweats to his dern fanny pack. He was probably in his mid-50s (at least) and a short little bald fella. He sort of reminded me of Mark's uncle.

No. 2: The words that were coming out of the instructor's mouth. This guy is a real yogi, and he was throwing out yoga term after yoga term as if he was chatting about the weather with some fella he bumped into at the gym.

No. 3: I am easily embarrassed/shy in front of other people. When we were asked to chant, I closed up like a little ball. Not only because I didn't know how to pronounce the verses but I have the worst voice in history. Seriously, ask Mark. He can recount a dreadful night of karaoke on my 26th birthday. Love rock 'n' roll? Not after my performance. Anyway, chanting is not for me.

No. 4: It was 32 degrees outside when I walked into class. The instructor, though, said the optimum temperature for yoga practice is 98.6 and he proceeded to increase the heat in the room. Standing in front of a window, with sunshine pouring through, and a heat vent nearby, I felt like I was in hell. Literally.

No. 5: 15 minutes into class, we had not done one pose. The only thing we had been asked to do - besides listen, chant and breathe - was stand up in mountain.

It was at this point where things feel apart. It wasn't that I was disappointed in the class. I mean, I was but that wasn't the problem. I was standing there, breathing, with heat enveloping me, when I felt an overwhelming urge to vomit. The feeling seemed to radiate to the point where I felt like I was going to pass out. I wish I could describe that feeling but you know it when you have it.

I took a moment, kneeling down, but didn't feel relief. I was going to have to leave. I put away my props, rolled up my mat and apologized to my instructor. I walked into the reception area, grabbed my shoes and threw on my hoodie. The receptionist asked if I was OK and offered me water or a back way to the bathroom. Negative on all accounts. I just needed to get outside.

The cool winter air never felt so good as it did walking to my car. The color of my cheeks began to lighten, my legs felt stronger and the pangs of disappointment had yet to swallow me on the one-block jaunt.

There will be another day, another class, though. Tomorrow. All-levels yoga. It will be better.