Cartel: "The Perfect Mistake"

I discovered yoga by chance, by mistake almost. I had been doing long-distance running for a number of years, until I ultimately ran a 42.195 km distance never to repeat it again in this lifetime. Only humans are a species crazy enough to focus on a random number like that, and to spend a few years of their life cultivating it. After reaching that self-imposed goal, I felt a bit disoriented and turned to the gym for a change. But it takes bravery to keep visiting a fitness centre. Most of us start fanatically, but when the enthusiasm of the new year’s resolutions fade, it’s very hard to stay motivated by the cold metal sound of weights falling down, or the view in the mirror of oneself lifting dumbbells.

Sure, I had peeked through the classroom window occasionally, and I had noticed that bunch of disciples performing all kinds of silly poses in front of their instructor, but “yoga is for girls, right?” and “it can’t be that hard”. Nonetheless, one day I joined the centre’s yoga class that I had inconspicuously been observing for a number of weeks already, and I felt like an intruding duckling in a group of graceful swans. But to my surprise, the swans accepted me, and they didn’t notice that I suffered so hard during my very first hour of yoga ever. Perhaps it was courtesy of them pretending not to be aware of my legs trembling like an erupting volcano. Perhaps it was their good manners not to hear my choking, as if I were fuming like that same cursed volcano. In any case, something changed inside of me. Beyond my prejudice, I felt I belonged there, in that very moment, when all thoughts seemed to escape like ashes in the air. And when I closed my eyes after that one hour of intense yoga practice, I felt peaceful, silent, yet invigorated. I was immovable, but moved. It was love at first fight, but a fight I loved to lose.