As expected it did not start on the right foot and things did not improve.

I nervously walked into the warm room to place my mat in the most inconspicuous place possible. However, before I even placed a foot in the door a gaggle of women, including my wife, looked at me in horror.

Was my yoga gear not colourful enough? Was it not tight enough? Was my water bottle not bedazzled enough? Was my mat not chic enough?

Mortified and with a look of sheepish embarrassment, my wife came over to me and whispered, You are not supposed to wear your shoes in here.

I looked down, skulked back out the door and took my perfectly clean gym runners and socks off placing them by the door.

I felt like Marco Polo walking into a Geisha House for the first time. When I made my way back in I was wondering if I should bow and look for slippers.

This was inauspicious start to what was already an anxious activity and I was regretting being coerced into this uncomfortable situation.

For months my wife asked me to attend yoga with her, an activity to which she has become somewhat addicted. It is not quite a Walking Dead addiction for her, but it is getting close.

However, for just as many months I abstained coming up with a variety of excuses to avoid a trip to the yoga studio. I even entered provincial politics so I had a reason not to go to yoga classes.

It became so bad I even left her at the alter.

Originally posted here:
First yoga class was a slippery affair