By: Lawrence LanoffOctubre 14, 2018Views: 126
Is it as cute as it looks like?
There's a new viral video floating around the Internets: goat yoga.
Yes. Goat yoga.
Little goats jump on your yoga postures while you practice —which looks
sweet and charming, but in reality, kinda sucks.
The studio I went to sold out every goat yoga session in about 10 minutes since word of goat yoga spread virally. So, I thought,
it had to be an amazing experience.
When I arrived at the studio on goat yoga day, I walked in to a frantic
goat handler running around with a hand broom, sweeping up a fresh and endless supply of goat poop and towels in the other hand apologetically mopping up goat pee. Who knew little goats had such big bladders? Goat pee reminded me of a tiny Hawaiian waterfall: warm and golden and spilling down my back.
As soon as class began, the goats hopped around person to person, urged on by a "trainer" and a hand full of treats.
Which made me think of opening a cat yoga center - since I can also make my cats jump on things with the help of a bag of treats. And cats paws are soft. Unlike goat hoofs. A goat hoof is a little like a crab claw. Big, hard and clumsy. Hoofs are not meant for spines and soft flesh. And with each jump (and occasional face plant) the goat's hoofs added to the patchwork of scratches, bruises and scrapes down my back and legs.
All this while, as our Ayangar yoga teacher admonished us to be more "present" —which made no sense to me at all. It seemed like the ImAnger yoga teacher grew more agitated by the goat circus. I mean, what is the point of goat yoga if not to be in the experience with the goats. Its seemed like Ms. I'm Anger was trying to say, being present in yoga means ignoring the goats. Which seems insane. Like what's the point of goat yoga if you are supposed to pretend there are no goats.
Sounds like more of the same: confusing, self righteous yogic BS —in a class that should have been fun and absurd. I mean how stupid is it to let a goat jump on your frikkin back while getting pissed on. If that's not totally absurd, then telling us to pretend there are no goats is batshit crazy making. As if, practicing that there are no goats is evidence of some kind of enlightened state.
In retrospect, goat yoga is a great photo op and hilarious. Especially if you leave out the yoga teacher who isn't quite in on the joke.
And suddenly, in my head, pops the image of two good ol' boys from the Ozark mountains who wanted to test the theory, how far can we push making fun of the whole yoga movement anyway. "Let's see if we can get people to do yoga with goats jumping and pooping on them - and eating their hair..." I can imagine them laughing their asses off and thinking "there's no way we can make this stick."
And yet, goat yoga did stick. Just like the goat leaping from my neighbors back onto mine. Stuck. Am I, as hoofs dig into my kidneys and then the goat slips and face plants. We both look at one another for a moment. I say "sorry" to the goat. The goat shakes it off. For a moment, staring into one another's eyes and with shreeks of a peeing goat in the back ground, this goat and I are totally present. Totally in the moment. Then she shakes her tale, drops some turds and scampers to another back to jump on —just because she can.