Saturday, May 30, 2020


Quarantine by numbers—Since March 17th I have baked roughly 250 cookies, a couple dozen cupcakes, five bundt cakes, and six loaves of bread. I’ve consumed over 3,000 ounces of Diet Dr. Pepper, turned 38, washed my hair all of eight times, and demonstrated about 65 yoga classes.

It’s rad working at a yoga studio where our owners have their shit together. Of late, I feel like the primary beneficiary of their energy and efforts. The virtual yoga set up Mike and Angie figured out for Yoga Pod Reno has made the last ten or eleven weeks—we’ve all lost count, right?—honestly great, not just a suitable consolation or a little something that could tide me over ’til things are “normal,” but a routine that’s left me a certain amount of bummed out that our exclusively virtual yoga schedule is over. After months of quarantine closure, the Pod reopened at half capacity today, and come tomorrow, Sunday, at 4:30PM, I’ll be back to teaching some hot, in-person group yoga. I’m brimming with equal parts excitement and, surprisingly, sorrow.

I didn’t know I could so deeply miss a group of adults so much as I’ve missed seeing my students, but I also never considered that I would find such pleasure in sitting on a little cushion, hunched behind a microphone, staring at a gallery view of my Zoom yogis, telling them how to maneuver their bodies. I didn’t expect to not mind being the demo student on screen for other teachers’ virtual classes.

Already, I miss what felt like private yoga sessions with some of the best yoga instructors Reno has to offer–

  • During this era of demonstrating for Zoom classes, I took my first Heather Deriso class. I’ve already signed up for her in-person Flow 1 this upcoming Wednesday, because I know I’ll miss her thoughtful and playful teaching.
  • In instructing Mitch, taking from Mitch, and demonstrating six feet away from Mitch, I saw more Mitchell Fink over the last two months than in the last two years. Already, I miss Mitch. I miss most giving Mitch a hard time.
  • How many of Angie’s hundreds of students would eagerly surrender a finger or toe to attend as many “private” classes from her as I’ve had the privilege to take during quarantine time? All of them. They all would.
  • I didn’t have to take a break from my beloved Saturday morning [Hot] Vin Fusion classes with Shanell since I got to be one of her demo bodies every week.
  • I’ve been missing Karen Perisho’s Flow 2 since she gave up Thursday nights months ago, but during Yoga Pod’s virtual period, I got to have her kick my ass every Saturday at noon. My butt will miss her terribly.
  • Whenever we could, Jason and I used to take Sabrina’s Friday night Happy Hour class. I didn’t have to give that up. I got to dance solo in Sabrina’s flowly flows. Her perky playlists cushioned the blow of falling out of balance postures on screen for all to witness.

My life has been rife with times when I’ve felt sheepish about the surplus of my good fortune. Here’s another. Lots of people have been struggling and sacrificing during the last few months, but because I work with competent people at a shiny, pro yoga studio, and our members have continued to support The Pod, I didn’t only get to stick with a great deal of my normal life, I experienced enhancement.

I sound like an earnest drag, but this profusion of gratitude sapped my wit and customary snark. So I’m just thankful.

It was on March 17th that Yoga Pod closed. Jason and I finally—finally!—closed on our new house on March 30th. He’s worked from home. We’ve packed, moved, unpacked, and organized. Jason got his old house ready for listing. And because I chose the right man as partner, we’re not only still speaking after all that, we’re, like, still in love. Phew.

I miss things—mostly privileged things. I miss dinners out. I miss the option of visiting family. We missed a trip to New York. I miss gathering my friends. I miss facials. I missed hairapy with my Hannah; I had a spell there where my roots were longer than I can stick out my tongue. I miss being able to watch people’s mouths move while they talk instead of just seeing a mask. Yes, I’ve missed normal, but I’d be an asshole ingrate not to see my good fortune during a time where I didn’t anticipate productivity or expect growth anywhere but my hips and thighs. Lucky me, I not only have wider hips and thicker thighs as expected but also a stronger yoga practice, an even healthier relationship with my guy, and the opportunity to sweat with my team again come Sunday. I find myself too lucky not to at least throw some effort at summoning patience as I wait for what we miss.

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