Prenatal Yoga – Take 1

I had been meaning to take a prenatal yoga class for some time but didn’t because I’m lazy and cheap and I procrastinate. Anywho, some recent back, rib and hip pains brought me to a chiropractor who also recommended I take some yoga classes so that’s how I wound up in a woman’s house this morning, stifling my laughter while staring at my inner eye.

Overall, it was a positive experience and I feel like I had a decent workout while still getting a chance to relax. However, there is only so much hippy dippy I can take.

Welcome to my morning:

First, I’m greeted at the door by the instructor’s husband and three year-old daughter. Her husband introduces himself and their son Ethan. Huh? That cute little girl is your son? What about her long ringlets? Androgynous pajamas? BANGS? What about her perfectly fringed bangs?? Nope, it’s a boy.

The yoga studio is two bedrooms that were converted into one. Clean, pretty, wood floors, the usual. There are two other pregnant women and the instructor. The instructor is very friendly and welcoming; the other two women don’t make eye contact with me and I discover they have the personalities of a dirty sock and a stapler.

In her welcome to us, the instructor says how special it is we are in this space because, “Right there is where I gave birth to my son!” she says pointing to where I sit.  She then directs our attention to the cast made of her  belly and breasts before she gave birth. All I can see is how tremendous her boobs were and I wonder, where are mine??

The rest of the morning goes fairly smoothly but it does involve the teacher chanting and singing and encouraging us to sing along. (We don’t.) There is also five minutes or so of “freestyle” moving. “Just close your eyes and move around how your body wants you to move. Listen to your body! Dance with your baby! Be sensual!” Do you want me to dance with my baby or be sensual? I can’t do both. I kept my eyes tightly shut the entire time and would pay good money to NEVER have to see what I looked like. Let’s just say it wasn’t dancing, and it definitely wasn’t sensual. It was more like Elaine on Seinfeld.

Can’t wait for next time!



Despite my complete lack of athleticism, I have found an affection for yoga. I took a semester-long course in college and have dabbled at different studios since then. I usually take a class or two and then abandon it for six months and feel bad about myself and then start the cycle over again. Not too dysfunctional, right?

I HOPE I have finally found a yoga studio I really like and can commit to. It’s called Om Sweet Om (how freakin’ cute?) and it’s in Port Washington.

Image: the abyss that is Google Images

On Friday I took candlelight yoga which is a relaxing class to help you wind down from the week.  My hamstrings were still screaming from a tougher class on Tuesday so I was happy to find it was pretty low-impact. In the middle of the class I was feeling relaxed, I felt grounded to the earth, my chakras were aligned (I have no idea what that means) when the woman in front of me let one rip. Loudly. In case I’m not making myself clear, she FARTED.

If you’ve taken yoga before you know that this is not uncommon. There is a lot of opening and deep stretching and then contracting and I guess it just happens. I pursed my lips together to stifle my laugh and tried to keep quiet. Her noises didn’t stop there. She grunted and huffed her way through most of the class and it really messed up my meditation! Maybe I could have dealt with one distraction, but the lady that farts is also the lady that grunts?? Come on!

New to yoga? Lululemon Athletica (in Roosevelt Field and Manhasset) offers free classes on Sunday mornings. Go for it!