Getting in Touch with My Pelvic Floor

I didn’t even know I had a pelvic floor.

I only made one New Year’s resolution this year: to take a yoga class. Why? I don’t know. Maybe  because we have a gym at my work with free yoga classes. Maybe because I think it’s good to feel like a complete idiot every once in a while.

I did it. I took my first yoga class.

From the first 30 seconds of the class, I realized the biggest challenge would be keeping a straight face. Which was tough, with the instructor saying things like, “Breathe down through your core all the way to your toes, giving added focus to your pelvis. Feel it move. Feel it moving your body.”

I thought yoga was going to be all about stretching and positive thinking. But I soon learned that “plank” position is just a euphemism for “pushup” position, and suddenly I was transported to seventh grade gym class. By the class’ halfway mark, I was already sweating profusely and feeling really bad for whoever was sitting behind me, as my shirt was falling over my head and shorts were going who knows where.

Toward the end, we were sitting cross-legged with a goal of resting our heads on the floor. For those whose bodies were not capable of achieving such a thing, an alternative was offered. Bend as far as you can, and rest your head on a little green foam block. My foam block quickly turned into a seat-filled sponge.

With 15 minutes left in the class, I started thinking I might actually be able to make It to the end (with 30 minutes left, I was really worried that I would have to give up and leave). I was glad I stuck it out, because the last 10 minutes was just lying on our backs with our eyes closed. Sweet.

After the class ended, several of my co-workers/co-yoga-ers asked what I thought of my first experience. With a dazed look on my face, I replied, “I’m not sure what just happened to me.”

Still confused, I walked into the locker room. One glance in the mirror and I noticed something odd. Green letters written backwards on my forehead.  Argh! The foam block.

The next day, I said to one of my friends, “Did you notice the writing on my forehead?”

“Yeah. But I figured you’d had a tough enough time in class that I didn’t need to say anything.”

Namaste.