There was supposed to be a metre and a half of space between yoga participants, just enough so no one smacked the person next to them or kicked someone in the head. In practice, so many people turned up that mats were practically kissing.
A man positioned himself behind me. With every inhale and exhale, he released a variety of sounds. I’m not judging why he was that vocal, but from the outside, it looked like every bend brought him pain and discomfort. His moans and sighs made me feel, for a moment, like I’d wandered onto the set of a low-budget porno.
At some point, he got so relaxed he peeled off his socks and dropped them like a lizard shedding its tail. Fine on your own mat at home, but bare feet on the studio’s floor are like sharing a case of foot fungus no one asked for.
Suddenly, someone spotted a small, greasy silverfish crawling across their mat, a tiny bastard that eats paper and thrives in damp corners. The instructor tore a piece of paper towel, approached the mat, bent down without a word, grabbed the creature, and crushed it into oblivion.
“Well, well, Buddhist philosophy in full bloom,” I thought.
A moment later, hands folded, she addressed the group:
“Does anyone else have a problem, or can we move on?”
“I’ve got a little problem here,” I murmured.
“What happened?”
“Well, I’ve got a pair of male feet on my mat.”
A chuckle echoed from somewhere in the room and froze halfway through. The guy behind me flushed and instantly whipped his feet off the edge of my mat, like it had caught fire.
The instructor looked at me and sighed:
“Unfortunately, male legs are outside my jurisdiction. But you can move closer to me, there’s more space here. You guys look crammed over there.”
Apparently, permission was all he needed.
I turned to him with the face of a venomous owl. He didn’t budge, he sat like he was at the beach, the kind that now belonged to him. Legs apart, palms planted behind him, bare feet pointing at me without a hint of shame. He smiled slightly and waited for the exercise to resume. I breathed in, told myself this was Zen, and braced for act two. He was already on act three.
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