Last week, I went to the Lunch Crunch class at my yoga studio, which is a 60-minute power session in the torture chamber extra hot room. This class is a doozy, and it’s only an hour because if it were any longer, it would be considered human cruelty.

I set up my mat, and since it wasn’t that crowded, I thought I’d have some decent space on either side of me. No such luck. A girl I like to refer to as a “super yogi” slithered up next to me right before class started. You know the type—skinny, about six inches of Lululemon lycra covering her entire body, exaggerates every movement, and when she does cleansing/Ujjayi breaths, you’re pretty certain she’s having an orgasm. I knew this girl was on a different level because every time she jumped up and back for Vinyasa, she threw her legs above her head, handstand-style.

Listen, don’t get me wrong. I’m all about challenging yourself and getting the most out of your workout, especially if you’re an advanced person in a normal person class. But I’m just trying to give you a mental image of ol’ gal.

I didn’t pay much attention to her, even though her legs were flailing two feet away from my head. But when we went into wide forward bend, her head was all the way between her legs so she was looking up at me underneath her butt, which was a little creepy…
yoga wide leg forward bend
…but I kept my head down and ignored her.


Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME!? Your ass is LITERALLY inches away from my face and you decide to set off a booty bomb? And I don’t mean a whisper. It was a full-force duck call. I felt disgusted and disrespected. This was nothing short of a Mean Girl move. She YOGA BULLIED ME. And she knew there was nothing I could do because who makes a scene in yoga? NO ONE.

I tried to take deep breaths to calm myself down, but I also wanted to hold my breath until her fumes fizzled, so whether I would flip out or pass out was touch-and-go there for a moment. Thankfully, we stood for another pose and I tried to forget about the ASSault and focus on my practice.

Then she farted again…multiple times. This bitch’s butt was a semi-automatic bazooka of flatulence and we were all victims. It was not ok.

Now I know there’s this whole acceptance of farting in yoga and I understand that. It’s a natural bodily function, and with all those ass-in-the-air poses and stretching yourself into weird positions, it happens and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. A tootie here and there? NO BIG DEAL. But as a rule, if your backside is that close to someone’s nostrils, you should try everything in your power not to let one rip. I refuse to believe you can’t feel that thunder creeping up from down under, especially if you’re so “in tune with your body.”

As for full-on fart sprees in a steamy room: Are you serious? If you have gas that bad, take a damn bathroom break, and if you’re really rumbling in the tummy, you might want to skip the noon class and wait for the 5:30. Lastly, if you can’t get through an hour of yoga without polluting the room, maybe you should see a digestive specialist. I mean, what if everyone let out rapid-fire rump roars in a 120-degree confined space?! We would all die.

If you’re wondering if my assaulter addressed her bullying actions after class, what do you think? Of course she didn’t. Super Yogi Mean Girls never do. In fact, I think she smirked at me on the way out.

But karma will bite her in the ass (literally), and if she farts like that in yoga class, I think we all know she’s destined to shart on a date, if she hasn’t already.

Namaste, girl.

For more on my hot yoga experiences (sans assaults) click here.

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