At the beginning of the semester, I decided to sign up for a couple of yoga classes at my friendly university gym. I loathe university gyms. They are full of annoying people who distract me from exercising. I had been doing yoga at home, but I knew that paying money would motivate me to not slack on practicing regularly. I chose to sign up at my university, because the classes were the cheapest I could find. HA. Who am I kidding? I pay over $1,000 in mandatory student fees – these fees are what make the yoga classes “cheap”.
The first day of class invoked a great deal of anxiety. I tried to find information online, but my student fees apparently didn’t cover an update on the gym website. Forty-five minutes before my class, I strolled in, trying to appear like I knew what I was doing. I asked the front desk where the lockers were. They directed me upstairs. I went upstairs and was told that the daily lockers (the free ones) were downstairs. I went back downstairs and went in to the weight room, where the daily lockers were supposed to be. I was feeling conspicuous with my bright green yoga mat as I traipsed up and down the same flight of stairs (I brought my own, because I hate the idea of using a mat that’s just been rubbed down with antibacterial wipes). I was desperately hoping that this was where I was supposed to be.
As I walk up to the desk, the guy working there asks me, “Are you here for hot yoga?”
Cue panicked confusion: How does he know I’m here for yoga? Oh, yoga mat. Yeah. Ok. Wait, I signed up for Hatha yoga, not hot yoga, right? Does he think I’m here for a different class? He said HOT YOGA. I LOVE HOT YOGA. IS HOT YOGA AN OPTION? HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS???
With an outward appearance of calm, I ask him, “Wait, we have hot yoga?”
He looks at me in complete confusion.
I sense that I have done something wrong and play it cool by joking about how much I love hot yoga, but I know the university is too cheap to pay for something like that. He brags to me about his recent yoga endeavors that he has been doing with an app on his phone. According to him, he’s a recent yoga convert. Eventually, I get a key to a locker, figure out where the lockers are, and go back upstairs to yoga, questioning my decision to ever step foot in the gym.
It wasn’t until I was sitting on my yoga mat, beginning to practice my breathing (I obviously wasn’t yet at the point of “mindfulness”), that I realized – he was probably trying to hit on me.
Advice for guys: some of us girls just don’t get it. You will probably be more successful with an outright compliment.