I’m not sure if I can pull off what I need to in today’s post because it involves sounds and exclamations that are somewhat difficult to spell out. You may want to listen to the podcast for this one as well.
In the past few weeks, and I’m being careful not to be specific in case any of you were there with me, I was doing my non-flexible awkward giant-guy thing in a yin yoga class. It’s a restorative yoga class where you hold these long releasing poses for like five minutes at a time.
Now, look. I know what it’s like to really have to fart while you’re exercising. I mean, just a few weeks ago, I made this e-card:
TODAY'S FEATURED TEE!
2020 Election Shirt!
(Designed by Dan)
I also know what it’s like to accidentally let one slip here and there. It’s inevitable. When your body is moving, and you’re bending, and squatting, and maneuvering all weird, it’s bound to move some air around inside you.
Thankfully, and luckily, I’ve only ever let the occasional toot slip at the gym while there was loud music pumping. And I took comfort in the fact that everyone else probably was, too.
But in yin yoga, there is no loud music. There’s only very soft, light, quiet, peaceful music to relax to. As you lay or squat in your poses, the instructor walks around, helping people relax even more by rubbing their shoulders, or pushing them deeper into their poses.
And that was precisely what was happening that day in yin yoga. My friend Meryn and I were on mats next to each other doing the frog pose; there were probably 15-18 other people in the class. What is frog pose you may ask? I’ve included a photo above.
Basically it’s where you lay face down, spread your knees like a frog to each side, flatten out, and go through an excruciating five minutes of torture while you do serious “restoration” to your upper legs and joints. It’s by far the worst part of yin yoga for me, the fat huge guy who doesn’t look like all the pretty flexible girls who surround me.
And there we were. Deep in our frog poses. Trying not to cry because it was really starting to hurt.
And it happened.
Ffghgfhght. (That was a fart sound.)
Only it wasn’t my bum that made the sound. It came from somewhere behind me. And it was immediately followed by a “woahaha.” Only It wasn’t like a “whoahaha,” it was more like a “oooahah.” No, that’s not right either. Just know that it was a short verbal cue that let the whole room know that the farter knew that they farted, and that they were embarrassed that they farted. The translation of their response would have been, “oh my god, I’m so embarrassed right now, please don’t judge me!”
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