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Letting Go: The Inevitable Yoga Fart

Growing up, I was filled with self-doubt and hatred.  For example, when I took classes at UIC, I'd stare critically at myself in every shop window, revolving glass door, or mirror that I passed on my way to school...every single day, without fail, both to and from campus (and in between, sneaking into restrooms to gauge how disheveled I happened to be).  I scrutinized my weight, the frizziness of my hair, how trendy my clothes looked, whether or not a pair of new shoes made me walk funny, and on and on into oblivion.  All of this critique was self-inflicted, so imagine my horror when others pointed little things out to me, like if I spilled coffee on my shirt (a frequent occurrence) or had food stuck in my teeth.  Rather than thanking them for the heads up, I'd shrink away, mortified that they were witness to the fact that I was such a disgusting individual.

That all started to change when I hit my 20s and got a job working in a salon.  It was there that I met women who casually came in to get their chin hairs waxed off, who sat down for their shampoos with super-greasy hair, who would begin their pedicures describing in detail the various forms of foot fungus they were plagued with.  While all of that is arguably nasty, I secretly began to admire these women.  They were shamelessly human and unapologetic about the fact that they, like everyone else, were not completely perfect or desirable 100% of the time or even at all.  Working in that salon pushed me to lighten up and put my own issues into perspective.  By the end of the experience, I was going on day-dates with my girlfriends to get our respective lady-staches waxed, eating lunch and shopping afterward (in public and everything!) with matching red upper lips out and proud like it was just another day at the office.  The coffee stains on my shirt were happy accidents, not proof of my failings as a person, and I quit having pity parties in front of all available reflective surfaces.

Thank goodness I got over that because there's no room for that crap in yoga.  Think about it...you're in a room full of other people, wearing tight clothing in front of wall-to-wall mirrors, twisting yourself into strange and at times uncomfortable positions.  Contrary to what Instagram will have us believe, ain't nobody got time to nit-pick over aesthetic.  It's mainly about sweating, intense breathing, derpy faces, and--due to the nature of yoga--sometimes letting one rip.  Yep.  I said it.  And that's what I'm here to talk about today...the inevitable yoga fart.

Over the years I've obviously heard tales about how frequently people pass gas while practicing yoga.  It's only a matter of time before you let one slip during a breathing exercise or an open-legged pose like happy baby, and even God herself can't determine whether this will happen in the privacy of your own home or a room full of other yogis.  Really, though...have you seen what happy baby pose entails?  My husband has dubbed it "the ultimate pose in which to light a fart," so I mean, say no more.  We're kinda just asking for it to happen at some point or another, am I right? That being said, while I knew that farting in yoga class was a reality, somehow I always assumed it'd never be me.  I was just confident that if anyone else ever farted in yoga class, I'd remain cool as a cucumber, a paragon of respect, tree pose on fleek like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.  After all, I'm a lady with a mustache, who am I to judge?

Well, friends.  I'm here to report that it was indeed me who cut the cheese during one of my first Iyengar studio sessions.  While I wasn't even the first one in my class who happened to deal one out, it still took me by surprise.  As the toot in question occurred while everyone was jumping around during a warm-up, the flatulence more or less blended in with everything else going on in the room (that's my story and I'm sticking to it!).  The moment came and went so quickly that I didn't have time to be embarrassed or even question whether anyone else noticed.  After the fact I admit I had to pat myself on the back a bit, because if this had occurred in my younger years, then honey, I'd be digging myself the deepest, darkest hole to lie in for all of eternity.  Instead I was able to let the moment pass and finish the class with nary a worry, quite the personal accomplishment.  Is that silly?  Sure it is.  I'm literally writing with pride about a public fart.  We can all acknowledge that's a little fucking silly.  But hey, if nothing else, I'm earning my stripes and for that I say God bless.

Moral of the story?  I'm over here dedicating an entire blog post to an event that, a decade ago, would have me given me actual PTSD.  So remember, ya'll, sometimes progress comes in the oddest of shapes.