Anyone who says Yoga is relaxing, is either lying or in complete denial. Or they’re inbred or they’ve been given rubber bands for muscles.

But apparently you don’t always need muscles for Yoga. Sometimes you simply need your skeleton.

“Now just let your muscles collapse and hold yourself up using ONLY your skeleton. Don’t use your muscles,” said tonight’s Yoga teacher (I named her Matilda) as she hissed into her headset.

Is that even possible, I wonder? How does one stop using ones muscles to remain upright?

Ten seconds into the class I realized a short-shorted, hairy-legged man’s butt was incredibly close to my face. I tried not to inhale at that proximity but Matilda had moved on to the cobra which requires some level of oxygen inhalation. The next thing I knew I was nose-to-heel with the guy’s foot and nearly gagged. Ok, Leis, just move back and relax…this is Yoga, remember? I coached myself as I scooted back on my mat.

Just as I was beginning to feel relaxed Matilda had us jump to our feet and stick our foot into our inner thigh while we stood with our arms above our heads. No problem, I thought, Ballet for twenty one years, taught Pilates for five, this should be a cinch.

But I couldn’t stand there and concentrate on the pose because: I spotted a humorous character at the front of the class, snorted a laugh and fell over.

The man I spotted looked somewhat like a bowling ball and a steroid had mated with a ballerina. What I mean by that is he was short with large, bulging arm muscles, a protruding beer gut, and an effeminacy that would make my eight-year-old, pink-wearing neighbor, Desiray, look like a man. Instead of tucking his foot into his inner thigh he dangled it near his ankle while he stuck his hip out like a cheerleader pouting. Then he tried to get those large arms over his head for the pose but only succeeded in squishing the sides of his face between his biceps. Best of all, his tank top stretched up above his stomach making it look like he was wearing a sports bra and suffocating himself with his own arms.

I tried to keep myself focused after that—ignoring the Hairy Man and Twinkle Toes and instead trying my darndest to get relaxed and stay balanced in my poses.

I couldn’t enjoy this for long because Matilda began growling into her microphone about getting back into Chataranga pose. Before I could get into Chataranga she yelled “plank” as I hit plank she yelled “Chataranga” just as my back was arched in Chataranga she yelled again “plank!”

Good god woman, pick a pose!

As we were forced into the downward facing dog Matilda started talking out of her butt. Ok, she didn’t literally—but what she said made absolutely no sense:

“Now this is the part where our blood decides to re-organize itself….” She cooed.

Re-organize itself? Do our blood cells collect at the knees, hold a meeting, yell “break” and then disperse to newer locations than those they previously held?

Meanwhile my brain began to lose all of its brain cells from the pose—I started to see spots just as she instructed us to get to a new pose on the floor. This was a great idea because I would have hit the floor anyway. Her non-sensical discussion continued:

“Now here we want to take our kidneys, which are located in the lower back, and force them forward toward our thighs…” Our legs were up and our lower backs straight—but no WAY my kidneys were doing any of this.

“Now just focus on moving those kidneys forward.”

Did she have kidney stones? Why did she pick THAT organ as an analogy to get us to push our lower backs in the direction of our thighs?

She didn’t stop talking about the kidneys until we were on our backs for the (finally!) relaxation time.

As we lay there Matilda babbled about sending our breath to various locations our bodies…

Ok toes…watch out…here comes a big gust of air!

And then she said it—the most bizarre sentence I have ever heard:

“Now make your brain go back into your body.”

No prob., Matilda, no prob.

Considering it's already in there.