Yoga practice was going smooth. My body was a little tired - my shoulders sore but it felt good to move. I discovered the rhythm of my breath and the sweat began to pour. About midway through the class, Mike the teacher, takes us through a series of wide legged forward bends. He instructs the class to pause and we’re collectively kneeling in hero pose waiting for the next cue.
Then Mike walks over to my mat and asks me how I feel. He will often use one person in the group to demonstrate an asana or to explain how to work in partners and support or assist each other in a pose. We’re working on press handstand so I’m hesitantly enthusiastic. “I’m good” I reply. I repeat myself: “yeah, I’m good” as though I'm trying to convince myself.
While the rest of the class watches and listens, Mike supports me through a press hand stand starting from a wide legged forward bend. I feel light. I make it to the top - find my core lines and connect. Cool. I love being upside down. He tells me to come back down. I begin to draw my legs out wide and move my feet towards the floor. He’s still supporting my hips. I am almost there and try to connect deeper. Instead, I fart. A clear - loud - audible to the rest of the room - FART.
The embarrassment doesn’t end with one. As I collapse to the floor in horror, I let out a few extra toots just for good measure. Despite my humiliation, I find this whole experience hilarious. The person next to me cheers me on: “AWESOME” she says. I want to crawl into a hole. From my fetal position on the floor, I apologize profusely and try to squelch my giggles. Mike, in his calm Mike manner, says "no worries - it's just yoga”. The room claps for my handstand attempt or maybe they are clapping for my musical notes that squeaked past my bandhas. My attempt to contain my emotion only amplifies my need to laugh. I keep giggling. As if I have not disrupted the flow of the class enough already! I try to take a deep breath. The exhale turns into another explosive burst of hysteria.
I quickly make my way out of the studio and into the change room so I can let it out. I go into a laughing fit on the change room bench. Another woman is in the change room standing there with her towel in wonderment. I try to explain to her what happened. I can’t even say the word “FART” without losing it. Why is this so funny? For crying out loud, the subject of flatulence was a frequent topic of conversation at the dinner table when I was growing up (this I can not explain...). I take some more deep breaths and wipe the tears of laughter from my face.
I find the gumption to go back into the studio. I walk in the room and don’t make eye contact. I giggle a little more with my partner that I was supposed to be helping. Another fellow yogini comes over - says a few things that bring some levity to my embarrassment. This place is amazing. I am made to feel comfortable in my uncomfortableness.
As I write this, I am still laughing. I’ve always known that this yoga practise fuels me - it brings me closer to discovering my true self. I’m not there yet. I know for sure that my true being is considerably less inhibited about laughing and passing gas in public. For what it’s worth, I hadn’t laughed like that in a while. Perhaps this practice gave me just what I needed.
I thought twice about posting this. But I chose to do so for all the people that may have passed wind at the most awkward of times and for those of you that might dread doing the same. If a few toots escape when you’ve got an unexpected audience, don’t worry about it. Audible or not, passing gas is natural. And call me immature but I still think farting is funny. In a sense, a little toot here and there reminds us to lighten up. And after all, yoga is in part about connecting with nature and finding a little lightness.
