Yoga served in a variety of flavours

With more than a little misgiving, Frances and I knocked on the door. It was eventually opened by a small, black-leotarded lady, with a slightly disjointed, perhaps Transylvanian accent.

“Hello. Haf you come to ze Yoga class? Ve started at 6.30 but you are most velcome to join us.”

After a brief interrogation regarding our previous yoga experience, we eventually found ourselves in a warm, dimly lit room whose floor was covered in a thick pile carpet. As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, I could see three other bodies arranged on the floor, demonstrating terribly contorted and painful positions. At this my mood darkened, until I realised they were in the process of adopting a yoga position.

I took my place next to a very large gentleman. I soon realised that his enthusiasm far outstripped his yogic capabilities, when at one point we were instructed to adopt whatever vertical pose we wished. With surprising agility my neighbour attempted a headstand. This greatly vexed our now highly animated instructor, who reprimanded him severely for adopting an unsafe posture. I had to agree. I could easily have ended up as a smear next to him, on the thick pile carpet.

For the next hour my neighbour did manage to keep his enthusiasm in check. However, when our host announced that we would finish with yogic nose blowing, we made hurried excuses and departed. The whole experience was more akin to that of a mystical, quasi-religious Indian sect, then the simple weekly flexibility work-out that we really wanted.

A few weeks later we chanced upon another class, which was being held at Battle Memorial Halls. As we entered the main hall I immediately realised that this was what I wanted, especially when Debbie, our Australian instructor, greeted us all in a cheery ‘girl-next-door’ manner.

The session started with a sitting posture and finished lying down, eyes closed in a darkened room – both of which I am quite adept at. In between I confess there was quite a lot of stretching, holding of positions and the inevitable grunting. However, some two years later we are still attending the class. Encouragingly, 25% of us are aging males, desperately struggling to match our more flexible female counterparts.

In fairness some will prefer their yoga flavoured with saffron and other eastern spices, but I’ll take mine natural and served from ‘down-under’ every time!