Yesterday I attended a yoga class. I accompanied Katie to the local fitness centre she is a member of and prepared to do lots of stretching and chanting and letting out farts at inopportune moments (I’ve always been told lots of people do that).

Walking into the room, Katie and I grabbed a yoga mat and found a space in the gym that we could place ourselves. A woman walks up to us and enquires as to whether it was out first time and that if we feel uncomfortable in the poses, we should not attempt to keep trying as to injure ourselves.

Shoes and socks off? Check.

The music is switched-on, it’s your usual serene piano and swooshing sounds. We are told to lay our our backs and breathe deeply, next to sit cross legged, something that doesn’t come easily to me! The rest of the room are sitting in their meditative poses as I struggle to tuck my long legs in under my body.

We stretch and make sure that our breathing matches our moves, breathing in for lifts and then exhaling as we relax from the pose. Problem is, I am relaxed but I am sweating like a paedophile in a nursery (no offence intended folks!). I am struggling to keep balance, touch my toes and look as at ease as the rest of the people in the room, I must have looked like a Giraffe!

Coming to the end, I spoke to the woman who took the class, I enquired as to whether sweating was a bad thing. Yeah, you guessed it, I was doing it all wrong. You are meant to let the breathing help take the strain out of the positions, whereas me hanging onto my feet and hoping I’m doing it right might not have been the object of the exercise.

I enjoyed it immensely, I think I will be accompanying Katie next week!

….and yes, I got ribbed, I was ribbed by Katie’s Dad and various co-workers.