the yoga gansta

Now, dear readers, I’m guessing that it wasn’t difficult for you for you to see why I was smitten with mysterious, rugged Kurt.  This one may require a bit more of your imagination.  Just bear with me.  And if, even after hearing me out, you just don’t get it, well, think about someone you once liked that no one else understood (c’mon, I know there’s been at least one).  And throw me a bone.

Moving to this town brought many new things for me, and one of them was yoga.  I loved it right away and started going regularly.  There was one class in particular that I began to look forward to.  The instructor was a guy probably in his late 30s, not particularly attractive but not exactly unattractive.  He had grayish-brown hair, a receding hairline and blue eyes.  He was slimly built but muscular, and he had a nice smile.  He went by his last name, Mason.

At first it wasn’t him I noticed so much as the music.  He got us rockin’ like no other yoga class, with unconventional pop-hip-hop-reggae blends.  He crafted beautiful flows that seemed to fit the music.  I left his class feeling strong and elated and ready to enjoy a glorious Sunday.  I fell for his class long before I fell for him.

As time went on, I began to notice him more and more.  He frequently cracked jokes and told little stories, often making fun of himself.  He could make everyone laugh.  He talked like he was from a city.  He had a deep voice and a way with words.  Sometimes I would unexpectedly recall something he had said in my other yoga classes.

Despite my growing curiosity about him, I found it ridiculous to actually have a crush on him.  He was so clearly not my type.  A 40-ish yoga instructor with a receding hairline that talked like a gangster?  WHAT?!  All the same, I became highly devoted to his class and even found myself looking forward to it during the week.  Still, the most I could squeak out to him was a quick “thank you” at the end of each class before dashing off (that residual shyness).  But I didn’t stress about it.  His class was something to look forward to each week, and that was enough.  There didn’t seem to be any place for us in the real world.  Beside, he hadn’t shown any real interest in me.

Gradually, veeery gradually, that began to change.  Our interactions at the end of class became a little longer each time.  I might say, “Have a nice week” or “I loved the flows today”.  He might say, “Thanks for coming” or “It was nice to see you”.  Or at the beginning of class, when all the other ladies were kicking off their boots and laying out their mats, he might come up to me and ask, “How are you?”

One day at the end of class, we struck up a conversation.  He came up to my yoga mat and sat down, and we started chatting in earnest.  He asked about where I was from, and we talked about a small town there that we had both spent some time in.  Someone else from his class interrupted with a question for him, and I said goodbye.  The next week I was more excited for class than ever before.  But again, he was held up by someone else, and I left without talking to him.  He caught up with me as I headed up the stairs.  He asked me about my name, which is uncommon, and said that he thought it was pretty and that it reminded him of a Lotus (it has some similar sounds)… and that it seemed fitting.  Yes, I know, I know, this was a very yoga-instructor thing to say and I’m sure many of you are rolling your eyes.  Inwardly, I rolled mine just a little bit, too.  However, it is not often in our keep-it-cool culture to hear such a frank compliment.  I smiled and thanked him.  Then I wasn’t sure what else to say, and ended lamely with, “Well, have a great week!” and darted off, kicking myself as I did.  It so happened that day that I ran into him again out on the street, and he asked me to go cross-country skiing with him sometime.  He told me to look him up on Facebook, which did seem kind of weak.  His Facebook name was something new age-y, like Nightshadow Mason.  I looked him up anyway, slightly doubting my sanity, and we arranged to meet up.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from hanging out with him outside of class.  I wondered if he would spend the whole time trying to share Buddha’s teachings with me or talking about enlightenment.  In actuality, as we skied, we chatted easily about the town, our pasts, and yeah, a little yoga.  He frequently made me laugh.  He was taking care of two little dogs named Bella and Coco Chanel for a friend.  He mimicked for me the neighbor’s faces when they heard him calling their names.  At one point I mentioned that I still thought about moving back home, and he said, “Yeah, until you met a cute yoga instructor, and the rest was history”.  I just smiled.  It sounded a bit convincing.

Shortly after we had our first date date.  Again, I wasn’t sure what to expect.  Partner yoga?  A Bhakti chanting session?  It was a pleasant surprise when he invited me to dinner and a movie.  I met him at his house.  He confided that he had let the restaurant owner know that he was bringing a cute girl there and that he should have candles and flowers at the ready.  The owner had apologized that he had the night off, but wished him luck.  The conversation flowed as it had the first time, and I found myself opening up to him and also laughing quite a lot.  We parted with a hug.

Later that week, I drove a half an hour to another town to go to his class there, but it turns out the yoga studio had changed location.  The directions I’d found online were useless.  Frantically, I ran into several businesses, including the local hick bar where I got a lot of stares, to try to find the new yoga studio, but no one was able to help me out in this generally conservative western town.  At last, I passed an acupuncturist office, and though “jackpot”.  Sure enough they were able to direct me.  I snuck in 20 minutes late, blushing furiously, but was reassured by the big grin on his face.  After class he thanked me warmly for coming and invited me to sushi.  After dinner, we kissed in the parking lot.  He shook his head and muttered, “Damn girl”.  I smiled and walked away. 

Things continued to be good.  He texted me frequently, just to wish me a good morning or to say I had looked hot during class.  When we got together, he never failed to tell me I looked nice.  He schemed future plans, like taking me to back country hot springs or going to Hawaii.  I didn't want get ahead of things, and listened to his plots without contributing.  He treated me like a lady, and I was surprised to find that I really liked it.  Our yoga-and-sushi became a sort-of tradition.

I will leave this story for now to tell another.  However, in case Mason managed to win you over as he did me, I remind you that this is a blog of mismatches.  So don't get too excited.