Please Don’t Talk About My Butt

Life at Maroma is great. Not perfect, but great. I will not bore you with the great things because the list is too long, but there is one thing that keeps this place from reaching the non-attainable height of perfection, small that it is -the Yoga instructor.

I am such a yoga novice I am unsure how instructors are supposed to act. I am fairly certain that the actions of the unnamed instructor I had were out of the norm and my two other friends in the class seemed to have the same reactions as I did, so I think I am safe in calling him out for his poor behavior.

I always thought yoga was a non-competitive sport. Your practice is your practice and you do what you can. Not for this yoga teacher. When I arrived at class he took one look at me and asked if I was going to be able to keep up with the difficulty of the class. I do not take kindly to being threatened by someone whose job it is to ensure that guests at their pricey resort have a good time. My southern training quickly left me and I reverted to my Yankee upbringing and told him, “I’ll do my best to keep up, but it did not make a bit of difference if I failed,” in my best, back off buddy voice. This little guy had no idea what could happen if he provoked me into full on bitch.

He obviously had dealt with the likes of me before and realized he better try some nice tactics for a while. It was a short-lived while because he over reacted a few too many times when someone breathed thought their mouth. Chilax, it’s yoga.

My favorite crime was when he was instructing us to get into a position with one knee bent and the other leg straight. I don’t know the position’s name because I was so taken aback by what he said as he told us to get in it. Word for word this was what he said, “If you have a big butt, use a block.”

I don’t care what language you do or do not speak, never in one hundred million years should you start a sentence with, “if you have a big butt.” I was quick to stop him right there and tell him that he would live a lot longer if he never uttered those words again.

Then he proceeded to wrap himself around each of the three of us to try and help us into a difficult pose. my friend Nancy told him to stop touching her and basically get the hell off her. After the class we all agreed it was way too “couples retreat” the movie. I can guarantee you that none of us was going to take the private hot yoga one-on-one class that he was trying to sell even with the 700 calorie burning promise.