Kind of like that movie, Cocoon

I had the morning to myself on Sunday and rather than spend it watching TV and playing iPod solitaire, I went to a yoga class.

Now, I only had a short window. The girls were at the movies with Diana, the most awesome teacher in the universe. Matt was playing soccer. And the World Cup finals were starting at 11:30. (Aside: I picked Spain to win it all on day 1. Wooo.)

So, the only yoga class happening at 10 a.m. was something called NIA, which was described as a mixture of yoga, martial arts and jazz dance. Hmmm. That should have stopped me right there. But a kick-boxing class kind of uses those elements, too, sometimes, right?

It didn't bother me that I was 20 years younger than everyone. It didn't even bother me that the instructor had dreadlocks and yoga pants with black, flowing gauzy stuff at the bottom. So that when she moved the gauzy things made waves. Well, the pants did bother me somewhat, but not enough to walk out.

The first 25 minutes or so were typical aerobics class stuff. Yoga set to synchronized steps and a lot of it required hip-shaking.

But then. It was time for the "free dance" portion. Yes. Free dance.

Now, I'm not opposed to free dance. Just that morning, Ella and I were free dancing to the Chemical Brothers' "Hey Girl, Hey Boy." We were pretending we were at a rave and we built up to the big beat and everything. It was amazing.

Free dancing in a room full of silver-haired strangers, however, was a different ordeal. Like, all of a sudden these ladies began to fling their arms about and skip around the room. Sometimes they'd stop and pose. One lady stood in place and did, like, a Deadhead type of spin.

Me? I was horrified. I stood in the corner and shifted from side to side, the same thing I did when I went to my first dance. I didn't make eye contact with anyone. I waited and waited for the song to end. It had to end soon right? Right??

It finally did end. And guess what? There was ANOTHER free dance!

I should have walked out. Any sane person would have. But the writer/observer side of me took over and I just couldn't leave. What if something even more ridiculous happens and I miss it? Well, something else did happen. One of the ladies, the sweetest looking one who wore an old-school sweatband, she got on the floor and started writhing around on the floor. Like a snake.

Now, I'm all for people expressing themselves. And I think it's cool that these women have this outlet. But if NIA class taught me anything it's that I'm a person who likes structure. Apparently, I like things done a certain way. I like rules. And at yoga, the rules should not include a Dance Jam.