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The class I went to last night was such a good illustration of what I see as being the colorful diversity of yogis. To my left of my mat, was a young guy named John who could only be described as the guy in a white shirt and black pants who sits two cubicles down from you. Extraordinarily ordinary with the exception of his head band that just seemed a little too flash dance.
To my right was the quintessential Californian yogini (girl yogi). She was blond, tanned and skinny wearing hip yoga pants and a tie-dye tank top. She was almost too cliché.
Across from me was a 50 something typical bay area exec type who blended in to the wall beside him, in a t-shirt and shorts. On his left was a chunky Indian woman who struggled with the asanas, but did this funky melodic tone during our mantra chant. To her right was a young Asian girl who looked as though you could knock her over with a sneeze, and beside her the best of all…
Best of all girl was covered in tattoos from wrist to wrist, reaching across her chest and sculpting her collar bones in a way that made it look like she was wearing a long sleeved t-shirt rather than her little tank top. From the neck up, she was girl next door. Brown hair, blunt cut, no make up – looked like she might be a grad student or dental assistant.
So it seems that there’s a little bit of yoga out there for all types, whether they be mainstream or tattoo laden fruitcakes. There’s a place on the mat for everyone.
And then of course there’s me…