The Pranayama's a breeze – it's at the Garurasana that the spots stort appearing in front of my eyes, writes ROSS O'CARROLL-KELLY
‘WHAT THE HELL are you doing here?” Daniella goes – and by “here” she means the room above Mitchell’s Wine Merchants in basically Sandycove.
I’m there, quick as a flash, “Er, does that sign not say, newcomers welcome?” which, like, totally throws her. She’s there, “Are you stalking me?” and I end up just laughing. Have to. I’m there, “I can assure you, I love my yoga. Have for years.”
Which, like a lot of what comes out of my mouth, is actually portly true. Sorcha’s Jayne Middemiss’ Intense Yogacise DVD was the closest thing I had to a love life while Sorcha was pregnant with Honor. I even made the mistake of letting the name Jayne slip, in bed months later, when play had resumed. Still, I’m not going to stort thrashing out the gory details of why our marriage failed – especially since we’re both paying solicitors bloody good money to do it for us.
Daniella is Scooby Dubious. “You?” she goes. “Do yoga?” and I notice her eyes stray to the area of my belly. It’s true that I’ve been hammering the old Amsterdamage recently, and I could do with, like, toning up? I’m there, “Big time. I love it. Actually, I’m glad to see some of you goys are surviving the whole current economic thing. My soon-to-be ex-wife was telling me that the Ashtanga class she used to do has gone A over T. Well, the teacher did a legger – supposed to have owed a lot of Ks to the Hilary Swank.”
She’s there, “Have you done Bikram yoga before?” and it’s obvious from the way she says it that she wants me. “It’s also known as hot yoga, because we do it in a room with a temperature of 100 degrees, which, firstly, helps loosen up especially tight muscles and, secondly, cleanses the body through profuse sweating.” She’s got such a pretty mouth – weird as that sounds – that she can even make the words “profuse sweating” sound sexy.
She goes, “Do you own a yoga mat?” and I end up blowing my cover by pretty much laughing in her face. “Well, you can rent one – it’s, like, €2?” I’m there, “Er, I’ve actually left my money in the cor. I don’t know if you saw me arriving in the black Gran Turismo – it’s the new 5 Series. What recession, says you!”
“Well, I’ll give you a mat and you can give me the €2 next time.”
“Or I could take you for a drink afterwards. Across to the Eagle. Then maybe kick on. Krystle, blah blah blah . . .” She doesn’t even respond to this. I swear to God, I’ve never put this amount of spadework into a job.
“Are you going to wear that?” she goes, referring to my Leinster jersey.
I actually laugh? “I know what you mean. After the Ospreys match I told the goys I was going to wash the focking cor with it. But you say these things, don’t you? No, it’s like I always say, I’ve followed this team through thick and thin, on and off, for 11 years – I’m not about to give up now.”
“I just mean it might be a bit heavy – for the room.” I’m there, “Honestly, it’s fine,” and it’s at that exact moment, roysh, that she opens the double doors into the, I suppose, yoga studio and it straight away hits me. Jesus, it’s hotter than two rabbits humping in a wool sock. There’s, like, 15, maybe 20 other people in the room, all ready to go – most of them birds, it has to be said, though there’s also three or four skinny-looking dudes in, like, vests and Speedos. In other words, there’s no competition here.
I follow Daniella up to the top of the class – teacher’s pet for once! – and lay my mat down in front of her, then she storts demonstrating the first of what she says will be 26 stretching exercises.
I’m not being big-headed, roysh, but I end up breezing through the Pranayama. To be honest it’s just, like, breathing and moving your head up and down – which, when you think about it, was pretty much the extent of my academic efforts at Castlerock and UCD.
Much as I thought I’d never find myself typing the following words, it’s when we move on to Ardha Chandrasana with Pada Hastasana that the real trouble begins. I mean, I’m fully into the spirit of the thing, doing my half-moon stretches while also admiring Daniella’s flexibility, thinking that Hunky Dorys couldn’t have picked a better second row for their poster campaign. But five minutes into a 90-minute class and I’m already sweating like Queen Latifah watching the Apache Pizza van arrive.
“If you’re not able for a particular exercise,” she goes, “or if you feel faint, then sit down, in the rest position, and resume when you’re ready. Remember, it’s not a competition,” which, of course, I take as an instant challenge. One of the things I’d be famous for is, like, my pride? So I power on through Utkatasana, then Garurasana – if that’s the actual word – even though I’m suddenly seeing spots in front of my eyes and feeling like I’m going to vom any second.
But I’m still thinking that this night is going to end with me putting Daniella through a stretching routine of my own design – see, that’s the mad optimism of the average Twelve County Ormy supporter.
It’s at that exact point that this old biddy with – you’d have to say – chunky thighs decides that she needs a better view of Daniella’s demonstration and she moves her mat – and her big tree trunks – right in front of me, blocking my own view.
But at that stage it no longer matters, roysh, because my vision is storting to go, a black border closing in from the edges.
“If you’re feeling weak,” Daniella’s giving it, “it’s natural – don’t be afraid to surrender to the floor.” It’s halfway through Dandayamana Dhanurasana that it finally happens. I remember looking down, the sweat pouring out of me, thinking, God, the last time I saw legs like that, Tomas O’Leary was pulling a ball out from between them. Then my hearing suddenly goes, then what’s left of my vision. Then something hits me hord in the face, knocking me out cold. It’s the ambulance attendants who tell me that it was the floor.
rossocarrollkelly.ie
