Mat-a-splat-twat

I’m up at the crack and raring to go. It’s my first day of yoga school today and I would really like to get through it without making a total arse of myself. But I’m not holding my breath. Whenever there’s a genuine need for things to go well, my inner dial seems to tune into frequency ‘fuckwit’ and all hell breaks loose. I just hope I don’t do anything too indelibly moronic today.

Being me is bloody hard sometimes.

The least I can do is make sure I’m not late. So at 5am I’m out the door. I figure an hour is plenty of time for me to locate a shala that’s really no more than a hop, skip and a jump from my hotel.

Naturally, it’s raining.

I arrive for class on time. Which I think is a triumph, considering. However, I am incredibly wet. Trying not to draw too much attention to myself, I squelch into the shala and form a small puddle by the side of my mat. So far so good.

The room is divided into two. There are the six of us doing Hatha with Ely on the one side and four students (including two I’ve not seen before) doing the rather more challenging Ashtanga course with Mahesh on the other. They’re already in full swing and I can tell by the litany of insults coming out of Mahesh’s mouth, that he’s not particularly impressed with their efforts thus far. I don’t think he quite understands that his class may not be able to wrap their legs around their heads and clean their ears with their big toes on day one. I thank god for small mercies that he’s not my teacher.

I, on the other hand, am off to a flying start. Ely has us all in ‘savasana’, or ‘corpse pose’, lying spread eagle on our backs, eyes closed and breathing. I’m feeling smugly accomplished. I’ve got this one totally nailed. In fact, I don’t know what I was worried about. I’m going to sail through this course. No problem.

Fast forward twenty minutes and everyone in the shala is huddled around my mat. They are gazing down at me with looks of real concern. I’m blissfully unaware of the situation, of course, for at this at this point, I happen to be completely out for the count. Evidently, my efforts to execute the perfect ‘hand-to-foot forward fold’ have not gone well. All I’ve managed to do is pass out.

A few minutes later and I’m convulsing…and muttering maniacally…in Sanskrit. I have apparently memorised the name for the position I was just performing: ‘padahastasana’ and I seem to be uttering it repeatedly like a frothy mouthed lunatic. Concerned looks rapidly morph into expressions of undiluted alarm. No one knows what to say or do.

Eventually, I regain my composure and try to assuage my profound embarrassment by springing to my feet as gracefully as I can, while insisting I’m perfectly fine and capable of continuing with the class. Much to my relief, Ely gives me the nod of approval. Clearly, she’s as keen to move on from the episode as I am. Moments later, we’re back on our mats for the back bending sequence, which I manage to complete without drawing any further attention to myself.

In fact, now that the worst has happened, I feel much more relaxed. Sure, I’ve made a total fool of myself and yes, I’m pretty confident that most of my fellow students will be giving me a wide berth for the next four weeks, but at least now I know that things can’t actually get any worse for me.

Except that they can. And by jove, they do…

We’re almost at the end of the class and I’ve just performed a perfect ‘tree’ (standing on one foot with hands overhead in prayer), so I’m feeling cocksure and confident about the next position – ‘crow’. We’re told it looks harder than it actually is, so Ely wants to take us through it first. We gather around and watch as she effortlessly manoeuvres her knees onto the back of her arms and lifts her legs up to hover majestically behind her. It looks impressive. If I can pull this off, I might be able to recoup some of the self-respect I haemorrhaged earlier. I embrace the challenge with brio, clambering back on to my mat to assume the starting position. I’m aiming for poise and control, so I’m taking it nice and slow. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a couple of the other students already up in their crows. They look great. I’ve got one knee up on to an arm. And all is still well. I just need to get the other one up and I’m there.

Instead, I manage to knee myself in the groin, topple off my arms and land directly on my face. I now have what I’m sure is the beginning of a black eye and I’ve bitten my lip so hard it’s bleeding. At the sight of my own blood, I start crying. It's taken just under two hours for me to make a spectacular twat of myself. That's set a new record.

By the end of the class, having ubiquitously shamed myself, I decide it best to make like a crow and I fly out of the shala as fast as I can. At least the next lesson is yoga theory. I can’t possibly do much damage there…can I?