Masked Yoga

The Sunday morning Gentle Yoga class at our town’s Y is just that – little more than organized stretching, but at least I’m out of the house for a small part of the day. This is about the only indoor place I go, aside from the grocery and drug stores. With a room about ½ of the size of a gymnasium and only 8 participants, my neighboring attendees are so far away it’s challenging to make out their features.

          Today that was especially true, since our instructor informed us that with our governor’s latest directive, we’d have to leave our masks on. If this were like some Yoga sessions I’ve been to, you’d hear people exhaling Bwha! Bwha!! like a sumo wrestler who’s just slammed foot down at his opponent. In today’s class, about all we do is bend one leg this-away and an arm that-away, no huffing and puffing required but I’d rather play it safe.

          Still, it took some getting used to and I kept finishing our instructor’s directions in my head:

          “As you stretch toward your leg, focus on your breathing. . .” and pay no attention to the fact that you’re inhaling the same stale air you just exhaled.  

          “Visualize a place where you’re safe, and rested, and at peace . . .” even if the surfaces are covered in germs and the air around you may be swirling with a deadly virus.

          The experience was a little distracting, but I came away feeling limbered up and ready to face a new week and was glad I’d stuck it out. It must not have worked for the woman on the mat to my right though, who started with us but disappeared after the first five minutes.