On Thursday night all I could think about was how excited I was to go to hot yoga.

Then I walked into the change room. And there stood, amongst others, 4 13-year-old girls.  The ‘squeaky’ kind. I prayed they weren’t going to my class (notice, I said ‘my’ class – not the class I go to, ‘my’ class, I OWN it).

But in they walked – GIGGLING.  And then they laid the wrong way (even though twenty other people were laying the right way).  And then they proceed to crack each others backs and take photos of each other with their iPhones (fine, there was only one phone).

So before class started I was already pissed.

I presumed, erroneously, that my favourite yoga instructor, Kat, would be horrified by their presence, especially since she asked, as she always does, if anyone was new to yoga, and they replied no. Within a few minutes it became clear (with their first failed  ‘down dog’) that they had no idea what they were doing.

But no, Kat wasn’t just perfectly ‘zen’ about it, she actually seemed happy they were there. Especially when they totally played in to her requests for heavy exhaling ‘ahhhhhs’.

It totally ruined it for me. I hated almost every second of it. And what I hated the most was myself. Because I shouldn’t have cared if they were there. I shouldn’t have let it affect my practice. But it did. I spend 8 hours a day with people that age. When I go to hot yoga I want to get away from them. But still, they have as much right to be there as I do. I just had a crap attitude about it.

And so, I left, feeling like crap about my practice and about myself. 😦