Stacey had recently signed up for a yoga class. Not in person, though—no, that would be too social. Stacey had opted for the convenience of a YouTube yoga instructor who was, according to the description, "Zen, calm, and spiritually enlightened."
"You know what? I can totally do this," Stacey said to herself, wearing an old t-shirt and leggings that probably saw their glory days five years ago. "I mean, it's yoga. How hard can it be?"
The answer: very hard.
The instructor began the video with the soothing, almost mystical sound of wind chimes and a voice so calm it could have put a caffeinated squirrel to sleep. "Let's begin in Child's Pose," the instructor said gently.
Stacey thought, "Child's Pose? That sounds easy. I was a child once..."
She tried to get down on the floor and immediately felt like a failed acrobat. Her knees screamed in protest, and her back popped louder than a bag of popcorn in the microwave. She managed to get into a position that vaguely resembled the pose but also looked suspiciously like a human-shaped puddle. Still, she powered through.
Next came "Downward-Facing Dog." Stacey raised an eyebrow at the screen. "This one seems... doable?" she muttered skeptically, as if the yoga instructor could hear her doubts.
She flopped onto the floor, raised her hips in the air, and instantly realized two things: 1) She was not as flexible as she thought, and 2) this was the worst position for a woman who had eaten an entire bag of potato chips two hours ago.
But she refused to quit. Nope, she thought. "I can push through this. It's yoga. I'm going to get all Zen and enlightened."
And that's when it happened.
Somehow, her leg got stuck behind her head. It was a position that only seemed human in a Cirque du Soleil show, not in a living room with throw pillows that were definitely not supportive enough for this level of self-inflicted torture.
Panic set in.
She pulled her leg down, but that was the moment her cat, Momo, decided it was time for a sprint across her body. Momo had apparently been watching the entire yoga session and had come to the conclusion that this was an all-you-can-climb human playground. Momo took off like a furry missile, zooming up Stacey's back, causing her to lose balance and tumble forward like a drunken giraffe.
"Stupid yoga... and stupid cat!" Stacey grumbled, her face now fully pressed into the carpet, which smelled like the kind of dust that only exists in rental apartments.
The instructor, still calm as a cucumber, was on the next step: "Now we move into Warrior Pose, a strong and centered position. Feel the power in your legs. Feel the balance."
Stacey tried to push herself up, but it took five attempts, two missteps, and one accidental faceplant into the coffee table. "I think I'll just... skip Warrior Pose," she muttered to the universe, whose silence she interpreted as permission. "I think the couch is my true warrior."
The instructor continued, "And now, we will finish in a seated meditation, allowing our minds to settle into the present moment."
"Present moment? Present moment?" Stacey snorted. "I can't even focus on the present because my body is crying and my cat is using me as a trampoline."
Still, she tried. She sat up, closed her eyes, and, for a moment, felt like she was achieving the inner peace of a Buddhist monk. That lasted a solid five seconds before Momo jumped back onto her lap and began kneading her leg like it was a soft dough for bread.
"Alright, that's it. No more yoga," Stacey said, throwing the towel—literally—onto the floor.
As the YouTube instructor's voice continued, "Feel your breath...," Stacey decided the best way to find her inner peace was by getting back on the couch with her snacks.
Moral of the story? Yoga is peaceful... unless you have a cat who thinks you're the perfect jungle gym. In that case, maybe just stick with Netflix and call it a workout.