The absolute highlight of last weekend had to be watching my husband attempt yoga for the first time. In short, it was bloody hilarious and nearly had my in stitches rolling around on the floor.
How we got to this point traces back to the start of last weekend when I decided to dabble a little further into the realms of yoga at the Yogafest in Dubai, (indeed there are festivals for such things these days, offering free classes in the ancient practice.) I’d selected a few classes to try and scheduled my weekend around them.
There couldn’t have been a more perfect setting than an amphitheatre next to a lake, surrounded by palm trees for this event. The restorative yoga class took movements slowly and focused on breathing. I retired happy but that could be pegged partly on the fact that I was highly amused by the odd chants at the end of the session…“ommm”.
The next day, complaining of neck and shoulder tension, I dropped my husband off for a massage. He’d researched carefully and selected a spa to his liking, but I couldn’t have been more dubious of his decision. As I pulled up outside the shop front that labelled itself “gents’ passion”, my husband reassured everything was above board, and I precariously drove off for a morning class of guided meditation.
It was calm and peaceful. It used breathing techniques to help release negative emotions including greed, jealousy and anger by transforming these emotions into positive ones, such as love. It all seemed a little on the hippy side, but overall I felt I could learn some techniques to help in stressful situations.
The only yoga I have known until now was a fusion of pilates and yoga, so the final session of the festival called Yantra Yoga, far removed from what I know, gave me the most belly laughs. As I dragged my poor husband along to it, it was only fair to offer him my mat. He declined it in favour of a manly blue towel and settled down for his first ever yoga class. It was a shame in a way because I had never experienced Yantra Yoga before and was working blind in what to expect.
As the class began, I watched in disbelief as my husband followed the chants while sat cross-legged and desperately threw himself into trying to bend into the moves. It made my attempts at Yantra Yoga seem futile as I giggled beside him every time the chanting began.
Alas I have to say, while the event was great and I got to laugh at my husband’s expense, I’m planning a move back to yogalates while avoiding the meditative yoga for a while longer.