An opportunity to participate in goat yoga recently came across my desk and I was like, “Sure. I’ll try anything, once.” Honestly, I haven’t worked out since I broke my foot and was hoping a good stretch might jump-start me back in the right direction.
Okay, that’s a lie. I haven’t exercised once since moving to England. I figured this was a good as time as any to get back in the game.
Aaaarrrggghh…another untruth. I really just wanted to drive in the car, alone, and listen to my podcasts and my music without someone interrupting and asking for the Cinderella soundtrack or a John Williams theme song. And I knew no one would want to risk getting defecated on by a goat, while pretending to strike a yoga pose….so off I went. With my yoga mat. To find some goats.
So all was well and good while we found our spots, spread out our mats, and got started. But pretty quickly I was faced with a distracting realization: goats don’t care where they put the rock-solid, extremely pointy, unruly horns.
The long ones aren’t even the concern. It’s the little, spikey, baby horns that you have to fear. Those’ll gut ya!
Graze ‘em across your shoulder? Sure! Rake ‘em through your hair? Why not! Poke you in the butt? Absolutely!
I was trying to appear zen and all, but really, I was watching my back the entire time — guarding against apathetic goats and their savage horns. What I didn’t realize is that the true assault was yet to come. In the midst of child’s pose, I felt a pour of something on my back. I immediately jolted into cow pose, and soon learned I had been doused with grain by the “farmer”. There were horns and hooves everywhere. I made a swift shift into cover-your-face-and-neck pose until I felt safe enough for a get-your-phone-out hold.
I was starting to really second-guess the risks I was taking in the name of fitness and “me time”. But I pressed on, dutifully following the instructions of our chakra-loving leader. Except…I had one eye open and one hand on my phone.
An hour and a half later, as we namaste’d, I had another surprise. A lap full of oats. Like…WTF?!?!…does this “farmer” not believe in consent. I did not ask for a crotch full of goats!!!!!
But all’s well that ends well. I didn’t get pooped or peed on, which is more than I can say for some of my comrades. And I enjoyed being outside on a beautiful day, in a very rural corner of England.
So, am I going to exercise tomorrow? That’s probably a strong ‘no’. Am I going to drive home right now with the music up? Hell yes. My car has Bose. I’m turning it up to unhealthy levels of loud!
Side note: When I arrived home, our favorite gate guard was on duty. She was surprised to see me with an empty car. Once I explained that I was just returning from goat yoga, she was like, “What in the world is goat yoga?!” I replied with, “I thought it was a Bri’ish thing? Is it not?!” She rolled her eyes and said, “Probably is. We’re a crazy lot, ain’ we?!” 😊
Use Your Accent 