Yoga is not a sexual thing for me. When I’m practicing, there’s sweat, wardrobe malfunction, and guest appearance of my big curly head of hair. But this doesn’t suggest I’m averse to practicing beside a handsome man. In fact, that’s what I secretly love about a formal class. The cute man next to me.

There’s always one. He’s the guy who arrives last because he’s busy doing other stuff. He’s the guy who fills the room with confidence when rolling out his yoga mat. His practice is strong. And attractive. And I like the energy of practicing with it.

Today I attended my first formal class with real people, in my old hometown where everyone knew me as that skinny, talented yoga girl. I’d quietly attended last year, just once, remaining unnoticed and feeling weak and fat. And before then? Over two years ago. So today was huge.

Why did I go? Why the sudden change of heart? Why the sudden adventurous spirit?

Because I looked thin in my yoga pants. Thin enough to practice without that stupid skirt which I’ve been using to hide my bum for the longest time. Thin enough to unleash my arms to execute the poses using the energy that I feel in my heart. I felt strong! Alive! So excited to be in that room, pushing hard and celebrating yoga.

And yes, boredom overtook about an hour in, causing me to realise that I’m a 45-minute kind of yoga girl. I like to get in and out with a barely there savasana. But I appreciated every bit of today’s session very much. The teacher, Yoga Bob, is great, totally California old school with a Rusted Root flavour.

At the end of class, I was approached by The Handsome Man. The one who had arrived last. The one who had practiced next to me. The one with strength and energy. Yes, I was enamoured for the entire 90 minutes. And you’ll never guess what he said to me.

“Wow. You’re good.”

And that just made my day. :)

How do you feel about exercising with others?