"How much do you weigh?"

"Excuse me," I ask, pretending not to hear the question.

"This posture has got to be easier for you than it is for me. You're tiny."   

I am in front of my yoga students, demonstrating how to push up into Chaturanga Dandasana from the floor (which can most simply be explained as a yoga push-up) while Ted carries on his inquisition. 

"Plus, not for nothing, look at those guns on you.  You lift?"

Ted just called my arms guns in the middle of my yoga class.  Oh, that Ted. 

"No," I smile.  "I just practice yoga."

"None of us are going to be able to do that."  

"All of you can do it.  It's just a matter of aligning the body and knowing where to put your energy."

"Energy, "he smirks.   

"Let's bring our focus back to the posture," I state in my most authoritative voice.

I love my yoga students.   I even sort of kind of love Ted, in that visceral way, despite never knowing what he’s going to say next.       

"Please don't light that incense," he requests in his first class with me.  Fine.  That's understandable.

"I don't like that posture," he complains on another night shortly thereafter. 

"You can take child's pose any time you want," I remind him.

Sometimes, Ted drifts off from the sequence I am teaching and bursts into martial arts movements.  I don't mind it, on the nights when he's standing in the back of the room.  

"Do we have to do THAT posture AGAIN?"

"We're building muscular memory,"  I say with a smile.  "So, yes, let's try it again."

"That's not how my yoga teacher in Boulder explained the alignment."

He loves to talk about his yoga teacher in Boulder.

For the most part, Ted is harmless.  I can cut him off in a respectful manner when he's on a rant, and I can teach over his whining.  I can ignore the occasional roundhouse kicks he performs while looking at himself in the mirror, yet, I wonder if he makes my other students uncomfortable.   They've come to class to learn about yoga, gain self awareness, and to escape the pressure of daily life for 75 minutes.  Ted could easily get in the way of that, even for the most focused and disciplined yogi. 

Ted hasn't shown up for class in a while.  I’m a little ashamed to say this – but I find this to be a relief. As a yoga teacher, I am supposed to see beyond the oddities of my students, and embrace them with the unconditional love that each of us deserves.  I can view Ted as an unruly student that I need to control, or I can look at him as a reminder to practice compassion.  With everyone.  Without hesitation.   

I'm curious as to what became of Ted.  Maybe he found another studio with new teachers to heckle. Maybe he went back to Boulder.  Perhaps he grew tired of yoga altogether.

Wherever Ted is, I wish him well.  He caused an occasional disruption, but I have a feeling he's much more disruptive to himself than he was to me or anyone else. 

Namaste, Ted.

Namaste, Divas!

©2012 Ilene Evans