What the Hell-Asana?

Woman keeps trying to kill me in yoga.

I’m at yoga. The room is basically empty, but for some reason, one woman chooses the spot that is three inches from my mat.

She’s so close that people probably think we carpooled here together. Or worse — oh god — that we’re getting brunch after this.

Class begins. She shakes in every pose, then attempts a headstand. This is alarming for obvious reasons.

In my peripheral vision, I see legs that are not mine descending swiftly toward my skull. Instead of concentrating on my practice, my focus has shifted to the looming threat of a TBI.

I remember, with a sudden fit of rage, that I paid $30 for this.

“Really sit in the discomfort,” our instructor says.

Fine, I think, now shielding my head with both hands instead of one.

Several minutes later, it happens again. Her legs swing wildly.

“Is there any legal recourse for this?” I ask my other self, a personal injury lawyer I’ve unlocked because I’m meditating so hard.

The lawyer’s answer is interrupted by the instructor, who reminds us that “there is no wrong way to do this pose.” This triggers something so violent in me that I can feel my heartbeat in my ears.

“That can’t be true,” I mutter. I try casually pointing to the woman next to me.

We transition to the next pose.

I breathe in. I breathe out. I am so mindful. I am so present. I am going to kill this woman before she kills me.