Guys, don’t go to yoga when you have gas. It’s a really, really bad idea. Also, it’s nearly impossible to meditate when you are trying really hard to hold in air that desperately wants out. I know this is graphic, and somewhat crude, but it’s real life.
Last night I attended a reiki yin yoga session. After dinner. After lunchtime sushi. After cereal with milk. It truly was a recipe for disaster. I should have told my friend I couldn’t go because I needed to sit on the couch and fart all night. Instead, I thought it would be fine, the gas would go away, and it would be all zen and Namaste.
Not only did I have horrible gas, I also had acid reflux in a major way. Nothing says ‘you’re 32’ like regretting you didn’t eat 10 Tums before physical exertion. Remember Jeff Foxworthy’s, “You Might Be a Redneck…” routine? I totally need to make a ton of memes with, “You Might Be In Your 30’s If…”.
Some examples would be:
You might be in your 30’s if you actually consider buying Dr. Scholl’s, because they look comfortable. Instead, you buy the really stylish shoes, and are rewarded with your first corn.
You might be in your 30’s if you catch yourself mentally chastising young’ins and their inappropriate fashion choices.
You might be in your 30’s if prepping for a big night of drinking means steering clear of greens all day and popping Prilosec like its the end of days.
You might be in your 30’s if you constantly tell yourself you need to get your shit together, but you still buy the purse you can barely afford. Because purses.
You might be in your 30’s if the thought of going home to watch The Office reruns, in your fat pants, genuinely gets you through your day.
So, after I’m made rich with all of the tee shirt royalties and jazz, I’ll create an anti-gas pill that actually fucking works.
Not only was I trying not to throw up stomach acid the entire yoga session, my stomach was making obnoxious gas noises. Quite audibly. Even worse, this yoga session was a reiki one. Reiki basically means the instructor comes around and puts their hands on you. I think it’s so you can feel their warmth or something. I’ll have to do further research, obviously.
Well, when she got to me, my bowel party was in full swing. The room was quiet, except for my intestines. They were gurgling, rolling, squeaking, and popping. I knew she could hear it. Fucking Sparks could hear it. I actually had to flex my toes to keep it in. Instead of going to my happy place, I kept imagining the absolute nightmare it would be if I relaxed and let it go. It would obviously be a silent, but deadly bastard. I would be able to count the seconds until it reached her. She would recoil, and I would promptly die. There is no coming back from farting on your yoga instructor.
In ending, I will not be attending yoga when I have gas. Because I have gas basically everyday, I’m in real trouble.
I have to know, people, do you toot at yoga? What is your method? Please tell me your strategy, as I desperately, painfully need to know.