Mean Ugliness

I did three yoga classes yesterday. I did a morning class and two evenings. I think it was exactly what I needed - not so much physically, because, while I am a little sore, it's nothing major - but mentally. By the end of the third class, I was thinking mean thoughts about both of my neighbors and the dude in the corner who kept saying, "what?" every time we went into a new pose.  Why is this what I needed, you ask.  Well, I'll tell you.

It started somewhere after we hit the floor. I suddenly noticed that my one neighbor was making a lot of noise. Not loud noise, but grunts and groans and erratic breathing noises. And he kept breathing through his mouth. It's very likely he was doing it through the whole class, but I didn't really notice until first set of full locust.

I could feel the irritation build. I didn't want it to. I tried to breathe it out. I tried to focus on my own breath instead of Wheezer's (as I started to think of him). I focused on the pink of my towel.   I tried not to be distracted by my sweat rolling off my back. That's when I started to get irritated by The Encroacher.

The Encroacher was my neighbor to the north. He'd come in after we started pranayama and wedged himself into a tiny spot directly behind me (even though there was plenty of space elsewhere) an then asked me to move so he could see. But that was at the beginning of class and none of that bothered me until I started to think the ugly thoughts.

The ugly thoughts towards Encroacher started when he knocked his water bottle over onto me and my towel. Without the cap. It was a shock to be doused with relatively cold water while savasana-ing. Shocking and oh so annoying.

Again, I tried to focus on me, my mat, my very ugly thoughts and just letting it all go. Breathe in. Breathe out.  Breathe in rage.  Breathe out fire.  No.  Wrong.

Then he kept touching my foot.  This is something I can't stand.  Not an accidental touch, but people touching my feet.  The only person I can stand to have touch my feet (unless toenail paiting is involved) is Matt.  I had to prevent myself from kicking him.  It's almost reflexive - like a cat with a wet paw.

I was too close to the podium to move forward and I was hemmed in on both sides, so I concentrated on the sound of the humidifier.  On the teacher's voice...

I made it to the end, but my metal state by the end of class was hardly yogic.  When the teacher started her soothing talk about relaxation and staying on the mat until we lost the impulse to move, I could take no more.  I let the impulse to move overtake me.  I didn't even roll up my mat, I just balled it up enough to get out of the room.

I was still cranky when I got home and when Matt made the mistake of saying, "Maybe three classes in one day wasn't the best idea."  He got an earful of hot venom and hyperbole.  I yelled so hard, I made my throat hurt. 

I finally got myself under control after a long, hot shower and realized that there have been some frustrating things going on in my life, lately.  Nothing major.  Nothing life-altering, but consistently frustrating.  I needed to get it out.  Three classes purged the frustration.

Sometimes working yourself to exhaustion is the way.  I never would have thought.