Yoga Thoughts Gone Wild

I hate yoga, but I do it because apparently my core strength is equal to that of a wet noodle. Yoga is supposed to be relaxing, but as my fellow anxiety sufferers know, NOTHING is relaxing when your brain is constantly bullying you. I'm meant to be calmly breathing and stretching, but instead, I'm hosting an internal TED Talk on intrusive thoughts. Here they are, in no particular order:

Quiet the mind? My mind hasn’t been quiet since 1986. OMG, I'm already failing yoga.

Can you catch viruses from these yoga straps and blocks? I definitely need my own equipment. Germ sharing is not part of my wellness journey.

Feet off the mat? No way—this floor has definitely seen shoes, and shoes have seen some questionable things.

I really should Lysol my mat. Actually, I should Lysol my hands and feet too. I don’t need athlete’s foot—I barely even qualify as an athlete.

Then I’ll have scaly alligator feet. Great, now I’m stressed about reptiles.

Why doesn’t Disney put better alligator warnings around lakes? Poor kid. They can manage thousands of people in a park, but not wildlife? Maybe Disney should spend less on fireworks and more on gator-proofing.

My stomach hurts. Why did I even eat before yoga? Rookie mistake.

I have zero core strength. Zero. I seriously need to plank more at home, or just plank once in my lifetime, for starters.

I should've had coffee first. I’m ready for savasana—actually, let's skip straight to nap pose.

I can barely hear the instructor. Are my hearing aids even on? What if I’m doing the wrong pose? Wait, she's looking at me. Oh God, please don’t touch me. Yoga instructor adjustments make me jump like a startled cat.

Another downward dog? Pretty sure this pose was invented by sadists. I might barf, fart, or both. Did I eat eggs today? Please, no egg farts.

What if I have to poop mid-class? Do I grab my mat and sprint out? I'd definitely have to burn my mat if it touched that bathroom floor. Gross.

Why didn’t I keep my socks on? Athlete’s foot is basically guaranteed now.

Why do yoga studios have giant mirrors? I look like a confused oompa loompa. And why are my arms this freckled? Definitely need more sunscreen—maybe a spray tan. But then again, I don’t really want to look like a human carrot.

The instructor just moved my hips. Personal space violation! Next time I’ll remember exactly how to pose so she doesn’t come over here again.

Seriously, who relaxes with all these thoughts bouncing around? Maybe yoga should be done after a nice glass of wine. How about you guys? Anyone else’s mind wander into chaos during yoga? Drop a comment and wave your crazy flag with me!