Reflections on a night at yoga

When most people conjure up images of yoga class, they think of spandex-clad trophy wives in compromising upside down positions, stretching to world music while a woman with a headset guides them through meditation. In real life, my yoga class is probably closer in comparison to an old ladies' Jazzercise class.

I live 2 miles away from the city community center, so I opted to attend classes here rather than drive to a neighboring town for the 24 Hour Fitness gym classes. I like the atmosphere of community classes, and I appreciate spending the extra $60 because it reminds me that I lose money when I skip class. The first day I walked into the building, I knew I'd found a place I could be comfortable.

Why? Because I am not competitive. I love teamwork and encouragement, not backstabbing and egotism. I'd far rather focus on bettering myself during yoga than be distracted by 30 other girls trying to outstretch and outmaneuver each other. The women in my class wear t-shirts and sweatpants, even if they also sport 2-carat diamond rings and the latest Fendi Spy bags.

To me, it's far more inspiring to see a 50-year-old woman who can still hang with someone my age during the challenging poses than it is to see a pretzel-like teen trying to bend herself in half. I get my daily dose of youtful competition with the girls in my pilates class, but I reserve yoga as a time to relax and reflect.

Yesterday a girl whom I'd partner stretched with in the past came and sat next to me. I jokingly reminded her that she'd missed the last class, and she smiled sheepishly. I remembered mentioning her to Brian because she struck me as someone I'd probably enjoy hanging with outside of class. Oddly, on this second to last day of the session, we finally introduced ourselves and shared our names.

"Florence," I said, shaking her hand.

"Renee," she smiled brightly. "Do you live around here?"

"I do, just a couple miles down the road luckily. You?"

"Actually, I live across the street," she answered. My jaw dropped in surprise, because the homes across the street are military property.

"You...you live in Coast Guard housing?" I stammered. She nodded, and I started to giggle.

Leave it to me to find the one Coast Guard wife in my class. Her husband is stationed aboard a ship identical to Brian's (a 378' cutter), and Renee is a teacher at one of the local elementary schools. We exchanged stories about patrols throughout the rest of the class, and I couldn't help smiling as we said goodbye in the parking lot. Her husband is going on the same South Pacific patrol this summer that Brian went on when I first met him, so I gave her a few tips for traveling when she flies out to meet him during their R&R port. It is really wonderful to meet other women in my situation :)