Mumbles and Grumpy... just what kind of people do you employ at the community centre, when you're not being the Mayor's body double, exactly?
Grumpy, the Yoga teacher Sixticton's yoga classes were held outdoors when the weather was nice, in a courtyard next door to the Bikram vineyard where you could smell the grapes ripening and practice ignoring curious bees and wasps. When the weather was less nice, such as today when the rain was attempting to reflood Asbestos Park and people's memories returned to the time when twenty school children were washed into Sixticton's cave system, the yoga classes were held indoors at the Sixticton community centre on the pickleball courts. Some students complained that they could smell vinegar, and others complained that they could smell the locker rooms, but they were all gently reminded by the custodian that this was all part of the great cycle of life: from wine to vinegar to mould. Often the custodian would say this while staring out of the window towards the Sixticton necropolis. Miss Hathaway, the yoga teacher, did not enjoy being indoors as she disliked the smell of sweat and was mildly germophobic. She watched the weather reports like a hawk and would, under normal circumstances, have cancelled the class at the first sign of a fluffy white cloud on the horizon, but this rain had blown over from Vancouver on a fast wind and caught everyone by surprise. She sat at the front of the class on her lime-green yoga mat, which matched her leotard so well that it was hard to tell where she finished and the mat started, and breathed slowly and patiently: in through her nose and out through her mouth. In front of her, in three ragged rows, were thirteen yoga students, a number she considered to be particularly unlucky. The front row were trying hard, but the second row, four students in total, were mouth-breathers, and the back row looked like they were having trouble with the whole concept of breathing. She fought hard to centre herself and try not to sound grumpy. "First pose," she said, pleased that she sounded relaxed, "is the Fire Log pose. We will hold that for ten seconds, and then transition into the Legs up the wall pose. Thirty seconds of that, and we'll try a slightly more advanced pose: the Feathered Peacock." All three poses were supposed to be helpful against depression, and looking at the class was making her feel depressed. The Fire Log pose was essentially legs crossed and arms crossed atop them and the class got there with only a little bit of chivvying. The Legs up the wall pose was exactly how it sounded, and she counted four students who failed to sit next to the wall while trying to do it. Her control slipped for a moment. "Really! How can you do legs up the wall without a wall? You, Alasdair! Go and change your yoga pants for ones without holes in them! No-one wants to see that! Linda, Matthew is not a wall. And that is not appropriate." Breathe. Face-palm. Breathe. The Feathered Peacock was a handstand-style pose, and it took mere seconds before catastrophe struck and Miss Hathaway lost her temper completely and stood in the middle of the room screaming, "Jennifer! A broken back is not an excuse for giving up!"
2 comments:
Mumbles and Grumpy... just what kind of people do you employ at the community centre, when you're not being the Mayor's body double, exactly?
Grumpy, the Yoga teacher
Sixticton's yoga classes were held outdoors when the weather was nice, in a courtyard next door to the Bikram vineyard where you could smell the grapes ripening and practice ignoring curious bees and wasps. When the weather was less nice, such as today when the rain was attempting to reflood Asbestos Park and people's memories returned to the time when twenty school children were washed into Sixticton's cave system, the yoga classes were held indoors at the Sixticton community centre on the pickleball courts. Some students complained that they could smell vinegar, and others complained that they could smell the locker rooms, but they were all gently reminded by the custodian that this was all part of the great cycle of life: from wine to vinegar to mould. Often the custodian would say this while staring out of the window towards the Sixticton necropolis.
Miss Hathaway, the yoga teacher, did not enjoy being indoors as she disliked the smell of sweat and was mildly germophobic. She watched the weather reports like a hawk and would, under normal circumstances, have cancelled the class at the first sign of a fluffy white cloud on the horizon, but this rain had blown over from Vancouver on a fast wind and caught everyone by surprise. She sat at the front of the class on her lime-green yoga mat, which matched her leotard so well that it was hard to tell where she finished and the mat started, and breathed slowly and patiently: in through her nose and out through her mouth.
In front of her, in three ragged rows, were thirteen yoga students, a number she considered to be particularly unlucky. The front row were trying hard, but the second row, four students in total, were mouth-breathers, and the back row looked like they were having trouble with the whole concept of breathing. She fought hard to centre herself and try not to sound grumpy.
"First pose," she said, pleased that she sounded relaxed, "is the Fire Log pose. We will hold that for ten seconds, and then transition into the Legs up the wall pose. Thirty seconds of that, and we'll try a slightly more advanced pose: the Feathered Peacock." All three poses were supposed to be helpful against depression, and looking at the class was making her feel depressed.
The Fire Log pose was essentially legs crossed and arms crossed atop them and the class got there with only a little bit of chivvying. The Legs up the wall pose was exactly how it sounded, and she counted four students who failed to sit next to the wall while trying to do it. Her control slipped for a moment.
"Really! How can you do legs up the wall without a wall? You, Alasdair! Go and change your yoga pants for ones without holes in them! No-one wants to see that! Linda, Matthew is not a wall. And that is not appropriate."
Breathe. Face-palm. Breathe.
The Feathered Peacock was a handstand-style pose, and it took mere seconds before catastrophe struck and Miss Hathaway lost her temper completely and stood in the middle of the room screaming, "Jennifer! A broken back is not an excuse for giving up!"
Greg - well, there's definitely a Grumpy there. I... I probably would have been the Mumbles.
Hah, I enjoyed the way things slowly escalated in the class. And the commentary was delightful :)
Post a Comment