Since there's not even a gym in Garnett, I've been looking for classes to take nearby. I'm not picky either. I'll take anything — painting, ballet, pottery, cupcakery, shovelling, you name it. So when I found a yoga class in a neighboring town, I signed right up. Coming from Denver, it is awesome to pay only $35 for 8 classes, rather than my previous $13/class. I had low expectations, though, because I didn't know if country yoga is comparable. But I was so excited that I accidentally showed up a day early. It was embarrassing to walk into a church chili feed with my yoga mat and flipflops.
When I went back the next day, more tentative during the entrance this time, I found a moderate group of attendees waiting in the hallway, mats tucked under their arms. Yoga took place in a large gymnasium, which was frigid. The instructor turned up the heat, but when it kicked on you couldn't hear her directions. Midway through, I could tell the class would at least be amusing. We were asked to keep our eyes closed and listen to her voice guiding us through the poses, then the heat kicked on, and nervousness set in. I'm already left-right challenged, so I've worked up a healthy paranoia about doing things wrong. After a few minutes in the same pose, I sat up, confused. All around, people were lying on their backs in the same pose. The teacher's eyes were tightly shut,. Completely oblivious to our lack of participation, she moved from pose to pose alone. I giggled to myself and laid back down. Country yoga is definitely different.