The Most Expensive Yoga Class Never Taken.

A good friend of mine did something yesterday that caused her to pay for the most expensive yoga class she’s never taken. She drove a little over the speed limit to make it to an Ashtanga class on time. How many people have found themselves rushing to make it in before the door slams shut and the “Class is Full” sign is posted?

It was early Saturday morning, the streets were virtually empty, and my friend really needed a good yoga class. You see, her mother had been admitted to the hospital the day before and she was feeling more stressed out than usual. So, with a bit of a heavy heart and, obviously, a heavy right foot, she zoomed into the yoga studio parking lot at around 7 miles per hour over the legal limit. At least, that’s what the police officer who pulled in behind her, with blue lights flashing, alleged.

My friend jumped out of her car, ran to the yoga studio door, and was met with the cold, cruel realization that class was, indeed, full. The teacher walked out, apologetically, with the dreaded “Class is Full” sign in his hand.

“Can’t you squeeze in one more?” my friend pleaded.

“I’m sorry,” the kind yoga teacher explained, “We just don’t have room.”

“But, I’m having a terrible morning!” my friend cried.

It was then that she realized how terrible her morning had actually become. You see, in her overzealousness to make it to class on time, she never noticed the blue lights flashing behind her. Apparently, the officer had been following her for quite some time.

“Ma’am, excuse me,” the officer interrupted.

“What?” my friend turned around and asked.

“Ma’am, I need you to step over to the car,” the officer requested.

Confused, my friend walked toward her car. The yoga teacher leaned in and whispered, “If you come back later today, class will be free.”

The officer began to question my friend regarding the speed limit. Didn’t she see him behind her?

“No, I didn’t see you behind me,” she started to cry, “I was trying to get to yoga class on time. Don’t you know how fast these classes fill up?”

“Well, I’m going to have to give you a ticket,” he responded.

My friend quickly realized she had forgotten her wallet that morning. Obviously, this is not a move that either pleases or amuses our police force. Back inside the car, my friend just sat and cried.

Several more yogis showed up late for class and were met by the locked door and “Class is Full” sign. One stopped to ask the officer for directions. The other one actually knew the officer. They embraced and proceeded to catch up on old times while my friend sat in the car and continued to cry.

Twenty minutes and $147.00 later, my friend drove away. Some days are just like that, aren’t they? I guess her lesson was to take more time, relax, and stop hurrying. It’s a great lesson for all of us. Perhaps it was a lesson for the officer as well. Maybe the next time he sees a person speeding in the direction of a yoga studio, he’ll stop for a moment to realize the great paradox of our times – SOME OF US ARE IN A HURRY TO SLOW DOWN!

The Squirrel? Or Me?

This past Sunday, while on a 30-mile bike ride, I was posed with an interesting dilemma. To save a squirrel? Or, to save myself? I had to choose quickly and I chose myself.

Anyone who has a road bike knows that you have to make plenty of split second decisions when your shoes are clicked in. I was pedaling at around 15 mph when the squirrel darted toward me. He was approaching rapidly from the right and I could see a man and woman walking toward me from the left. The only way to avoid hitting the people and saving myself from a disastrous headlong launch over the handlebars was to flatten the squirrel.

Hoping for the best for all parties involved, I hunched over, continued to pedal, and screamed, “AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”

The woman in front of me threw her arms up, bugged her eyes, and yelled, “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”

The squirrel ran right into the spokes of my front tire and went on the spin cycle of his life. I could hear his little furry body hitting against the spokes and frame. It reminded me of the sound of a playing card in my bicycle tire spokes when I was little, only not so pleasant, given the circumstances.

Amazingly, he was ejected from the spokes, hopped alongside me, and jumped right back into the tire as I continued to scream. The thumping continued for a moment until he flew out and bounced off the side of the bike path and into the woods.

The entire incident happened so fast that I hadn’t even caught up to the man and woman, who was still screaming with me and waving her arms wildly. As I whooshed by them, I yelled, “Is it okay?!?!?”

“It’s fine! It’s fine! Keep going!” she reassured me.

Happy to be alive and uninjured, I continued on my way. Naturally, I felt guilty about the poor squirrel. I wondered what happened to him but, honestly, I was happier to have not broken my collarbone and/or my wrists. I’m sure the woman was happy that I didn’t swerve and flatten her instead.

This incident continues to disturb my thoughts. After all, yoga teaches us ahimsa, non-violence. A part of me feels like I callously injured a squirrel just to ensure my own safety and well-being. Another part of me knows that our instinct for survival as humans is very powerful and kicks in when we feel threatened. So, on the other hand, I would have been inflicting violence on myself, or the woman, had I chosen to avoid injuring the squirrel.

I keep telling myself that the squirrel is fine. He must have limped angrily back to his nest and informed his squirrel family that he was captured by some strange thrashing machine and launched violently through the air for no reason. His squirrel friends probably told him to be more careful in the future as the acorn path is notorious for several different types of giant wheeled torture devices. Afterwards, they all proudly showed off their scars and gashes and boasted about who had been run over the most times.

Perhaps this unfortunate incident was just the incentive the frustrated squirrel community needed in order to be inspired to organize a revolt to put a stop to the abuse by wheeled humans. I’ll let you know if an army of angry squirrel bandits attempts to overtake me the next time I go for a bike ride. And, really, how can I be sure this little squirrel wasn’t aiming for me on purpose for this very reason? In the meantime, I drew a picture of the incident and hope you’ll join me in sending healing energy to this squirrel and all the squirrels of the world.