Dear Yoga Farter

Dear Yoga Farter,

I wasn’t going to say anything the first time you let one slip during the evening vinyasa flow class. I wasn’t even concerned the second time it happened. Exercise-induced flatulence happens to everyone! Moving from a swan dive to chair pose to a side twist is a recipe for disaster if you’ve eaten the wrong thing that day.

But we’ve been in a handful of classes together this year, Yoga Farter, and it’s time that I finally address your habit of cutting the cheese with reckless abandon. The final straw came that one evening when you dared to toot over ten times. There were only five of us in the studio, and you had specifically chosen to lay your mat next to mine. I can only imagine how many of the other yogis assumed the sound was coming from my own intestines. When I gave you a sideways glance upon your third excretion, you showed no embarrassment, no remorse. I was at once struck with admiration and annoyance.

How dare you continue to expel your smell throughout the 75 minute class without even an apologetic glance in my direction?! Are you doing it to antagonize me? To throw me off balance? Are you intimidated by the stability and grace of my tree pose?

I read that book “Everyone Poops.” I know that flatulence is just another glorious product of the human body. But for the sake of my chi, and the inner peace of our yogi peers, please consider Gas X before our next class. My ujjayi breathing (and my nose) will thank you.

Namaste,
Sydney

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