Dena Taylor’s Musings

There are lots of rules posted on the walls of the YMCA: Don’t use your cell phone. Don’t pee in the pool. Don’t leave your children in the lockers. You know, all the regular stuff. But I never thought we would need a rule for something as routine as taking a shower, until now.

In the women’s locker room, I stepped into a shower stall to rinse before swimming some laps in the pool. I was just about to put on my shower cap when, from the steaming stall across the way, came the shocking, guttural sounds of a woman expectorating what sounded like most of her internal organs.

Gross, I know. And you’re just reading it. Imagine hearing it live! The caliber of this particular Hock ‘n’ Spit was of a level usually reserved for men with a blood alcohol level of .30. (I’ve heard them on Sixth Street.) But hearing it from a woman was an unexpected leap in female equality.

A friend of mine once told me he never goes barefoot on a hotel room floor, or in a hotel room shower. “You have no idea what you’re walking on,” he warned. I passed it off as slight paranoia until the next time I was in a hotel room about to take off my socks. I couldn’t help but survey the carpet and notice an array of questionable marks and stains. From then on, I found myself covering my feet on well-traveled floors. I had cursed my friend for this added anxiety but standing in the shower at the Y, as the woman excavated her lungs, I looked down at the flip flops on my feet and gave thanks.

After 40 minutes in the pool, I was back in the shower rinsing off the chlorine when I heard a second series of extensive and excruciating exhumations emanating from yet another stall. What were the odds of hearing not one but two professional hockers in one hour at the gym? Either it was my lucky day or I was about to contract tuberculosis.

Epidemics aside, the sounds the Expectoress made were terrifying. It was straight out of an exorcism. I half expected the tiles to crack, the floor to cave and the ceiling to crumble as the Y went up in flames and a family of chubby possessed Mucinex creatures were violently expelled from their host. And there I stood, naked, with just two swaths of plastic separating me from what I was sure was Typhoid Mary.

I’m thinking of posting a few signs of my own around the locker room showers. Something like:

Change your spitting image. Hock at home.

Pno spitting. Pno hocking. Pno Pneumonic plague.

Or,

Jesus doesn’t save spitters. Hock and go to Hell.

Welcome to Happy Hour yoga, everyone!

You’ll need a mat, a blanket, two blocks and a cocktail.

Let’s start in a seated position, with one hand on your knee and the other holding your beverage. Take a deep breath in and exhale. On your second inhale, take a big drink and then place your beverage to the side of your mat. With your hands to your heart, close your eyes and join me in saying three “ohmy’s.”

Great job! Now, instead of boring ole Triangle pose, let’s have some fun and do a parallelogram! No, wait. Make that an Archimedean spiral! Take a few more sips and then just spin around and round and round. Oops, you might want to put your martini down first, April. Same goes for you Jerry. Melody, you can change in the bathroom down the hall.

Super guys, refresh your drinks and prepare for Hoochanasana or on the rocks pose. Use your blocks for support. If this one is new to you, just do whatever you think sounds fun. Take another swig or two and then hold the pose for another five…four…three…two…one and release. Awesome! Go ahead and get another round and then we’ll set up for our next position.

Man, that stout makes me burpy! I’m gonna do a quick belch-removing pose. Any takers? Right on. Hit the mat and let’s do it! Buuuuuurrrrrp and release.

Bottoms up, people! No seriously, let’s go right into a forward bend with Slouching Tiger pose. Just hang there for a sec, bounce, growl, wiggle or whatever. Now, step back into Downward Facing Slog. Take your time. If it’s available to you, reach for your beverage, cock your head and take another gulp. Careful not to spill!

Many of you have already taken on Slurayasana without even knowing it. That’s hysterical. Especially you, April. I thought you were kind of a prude at first. But hey, a tipsy chi is a happy chi, right? Totally. Speaking of, let’s go ahead and get another round!

Those of you with tight muscles will appreciate this next one! It’s called Sloshasana or stumbling frog pose and it will loosen up even the tightest of bitches! Just get on all fours and sort of hop or crawl forward. Many of you will naturally fall into Plasteredasana or drunk juvenile pose and that’s okay. Just go with it and feel free to refresh your bevies at any time. Don’t forget to use your blankets to wipe your chins.

Anyone for Sober pose? I didn’t think so!

Now with arms out to your sides, let’s attempt Staggersana or crooked line pose. Just a few steps in whatever direction is fine. Just try not to trip on your blocks or run into anyone. Stretch those arms out, people! Can you feel your chest opening? Your chest, Jerry, not your neighbor’s. Geez. And release.

Great everyone! It doesn’t appear we can do much more so let’s grab a nightcap and take Impairedasana or legal limit pose. Slump up against the wall, lay on your stomach or curl up with your blocks and rest. Just don’t close your eyes or you might feel queasy and the last thing we want is for someone to get stuck in heaving monkey pose! Yuck.

Thanks for coming, you guys. If you remember any of this, tell your friends. Otherwise, nama-fuckin-ste y’all.

Uh-oh.

Oooooh, that’s not good.

Fucking Odwalla.

Oh God.

Hold it. Hold it! HOLD IT!

You can make it. Just a few more blocks.

Oh man…

Hold it. Hold it! HOLD IT!

Shit.

C’mon cars. Gotta cross. Gotta cross! GOTTA CROSS!

Okay. To the Stop sign…the driveway…the mailbox…

Oh sweet Jesus…

Hold it. Hold it! HOLD IT!

Thank God! There’s the house. Just calmly cut through the yard…and unlock the door…and RUUUUUUUUNNNNNN!

[27 seconds later]

No more micronutrient fruit drinks before you run.

That was too damn close.