An Ode To That Guy In My Yoga Class

Greg, this post is dedicated to you. I know your name is Greg, because you’ve presumably been coming to yoga classes at my studio long enough and consistently enough that the teachers compliment you by name. 

Greg, I really like how we always put our mats next to each other. It makes me feel like we are friends, even though you probably don’t know my name, because I tend to get complimented by name a little less than you do.

Greg, I wonder how you mentally refer to me. Am I Short Girl Who For Some Reason Always Puts Her Mat By Mine? That Chick Who Always Sweats Way More Than the Rest Of Us? The Woman With No Upper Body Strength Who Is Clearly Just Trying Her Best (And Failing)?

Greg, please stop taking all those extra chaturanga dandasanas. It’s giving me a complex.

Greg, I am often smug when we are doing poses that I am automatically better at than you because of your boy parts. Don’t worry, Greg, I feel this way about all male yogis. It doesn’t really make up for the pay gap, but it does take some of the sting out of it.

Greg, when I attempt a shitty crow pose or lift myself into a mediocre wheel and you look at me with that grin on your face, I have a choice. I can believe you are looking at me with mingled fondness and pride, seeing how I have grown in my yoga practice, or I can believe you are laughing at me. I choose to believe the former, because sometimes self delusion is necessary in order to cling to the tattered shards of my self-esteem.

Greg, you wear the same outfit to literally every class. Like, not the same basic ensemble, but, as far as I can tell, the same specific clothing items. Whether you have several sets of the same pants and shirt, or you’re just washing them very, very frequently, I’m not sure. While your attire is a source of curiosity for me, I’m not disgusted because I would definitely be able to tell if your identical outfits were unwashed. Greg, unlike many male yogis, you never smell like BO. You actually probably smell less like BO than me, because of course you do. Way to hygiene, Greg.

Greg, I think you are married because I’ve spotted a ring on your finger. I wonder about your wife. Does she practice yoga? Why does she never come with you? Are you just on different schedules? Maybe it’s that you’re a night owl and she’s a morning person. Or maybe she hates yoga. Maybe she’s too busy with work. Or maybe she’s always taking care of your kids and doesn’t have time to go to yoga class. God, Greg! Can’t the woman have any time for herself? You are such a dick.

Greg, I really hope you never read this because you will probably be super weirded out, but I like to think that if you do, you’ll find this all very endearing and humorous and continue to put your mat next to mine. (And please stop laughing at me if you're laughing at me. I'm TRYING, okay?)