That Guy

Today I had a "That Guy" experience. Everyone knows or has seen "that guy." He is usually the one in the group that you look on with disapproving eyes. The one idiot who does or says something that you can't believe. He's the one when he around you either laugh at him or pretend you don't know him, the one you tell your children..."Don't be that guy." Well today "that guy" was me.

As per my usually Thursday routine I went to the gym around 3:30pm. I can do this because I didn't have any work I had to get done right then. I piddled around for a while ran some, did a couple of machines and what not. I remembered there was a yoga class at five, so I had some internal debate if I would stay for it or just go home and cook dinner. Now me going home and cooking dinner wouldn't be funny, so I think you know where I am going with this one. After walking by the room a few times, I decided, what the hell, it can't hurt to go to one class...so I went. That's where it went down hill.

There were lots of people in the class. 21 to be exact. I quickly counted the males in the class on one hand...Actually on one finger, yeah, it was me. I was dripping sweat from my previous workout and sitting in the corner looking very out of place and uncomfortable. Not to mention the room had full length mirrors on three walls, so not only was I in a class with 20 reall women, I was also in a class with an infinite amount of judging women. I was sure when the class actually started I would fell better. Boy was I wrong.

Do any of you know how sensual yoga can be. Granted this was my first time to do yoga for many many years and even then it was just usually me and an old lady in the room. It's a completely different story when you are surrounded by 20 college coeds, not at all bad, but different. Yoga is a very sexual practice. I found myself having to pay particular attention to not staring.

The yoga instructor turned off the lights, which I found both a blessing and a curse. My range of vision was limited to the few people around me silhouetted from closet light. The good part was through the fumbling and intermingling of body parts, I was not in too much danger of being found out to be a big-boned klutz. The down side was I picked the side of the room with the old lady, the hefty gal, and the manly athlete. But since I was trying to keep the "Chester the molester" image on the down low, I was thankful the lights were out.

I proceeded to contort my body into many different positions...the cobra...the monkey...the jack knife...the broken dog. I laughed a little to myself and these names were called out. The mountain was fun, but I could have done with out the corpse. The mental image of a couple of hippies sitting out in the mountains smoking a doobie laced with the white lady came to mind. I can imagine them saying "Hey Man, lets make up some cool new way to exercise, man, that will incorporate Mother Earth, man, and all her glory. We'll call it yoga, man, so all the squares will be afraid, man, it will be narley." Little did they know all the yuppies, gold diggers, and bored soccer moms would embrace the brain child of the age of Aquarius.

So, I am currently lifting my left leg over my head, I have my left arm nearly missing the family maker and reaching for the right ankle. A few seconds later I'm flat on my stomach both feet in both hands, breathing through my nose, and trying not to laugh at the people around me and myself to be honest. A few seconds after that, I have actually tucked my head down so far I can lick my belly button. I resist the urge and focus on the next move...I kept wishing for something easy, boy I'm dumb.

So, the yogi (yeah like the damn bear), as the instructor called himself, had brought music for this. I am all about the music, so I was anticipating some relaxing jams for the Streeching of my already sore body. There was your typical stuff, indian flute music, enya, Mustang Sally. It was pretty standard I guess, though I questioned Mustang Sally. Then Sexual Healing came on. I was fighting with all my might not to bust out laughing and thus causing me to fall from the barking horse position. I fought the temptation well. There were snickers from me, but there were only audible by my immediate yogamates (yeah, I made that word up). I thought this couldn't have been more perfect, sexual healing, yoga, through in a bottle of cheap wine and it's an over 50's idea of a second honeymoon. At this point I wanted out more than a fat kid wants a cupcake. Unfortunately the exits were at opposite ends and I didn't want to break anyone's mental concentration. I know Sexual Healing can be trance inducing, especially while the instructor is persuading you to...and I quote..."Thrust your hips up into the reverse plank and repeat three more times." My mind flashes to a robot with flailing arms screaming "danger David Mac, danger." This went on for about an hour, then the yogi says thanks and see you later. I then hauled ass.

I was the only guy, besides the instructor there, it was like one of those bad sitcom shows where the wife drags the hubby in to "share" common interests. Except I had no significant other. I was stuck looking like a pervert coming to a class full of women. I avoided eye contact for fear seeing my future of pitched forks and torches. Me running saying "I didn't know it would be this awkward", the mob of PC upity women chasing me through the dark forest hurling tampons at me to make me feel more out of place. Scare. At least I was able to recognize I was "that guy" and knowing is half the battle. Next week, yoga, same bat time, same bat place, the only different is that class will be sans a "that guy."