Thomas Iacobucci | The Crow’s Nest
By Katlynn Mullins
Everything was tinged gold as the sun began to set over the west deck of The Edge.
Students sat barefoot on yoga mats while puppies dragged their handlers between the mats.
A hint of excitement was in the air.
For the second day of Fitness Week, Campus Recreation partnered with the Puppy Raisers Club on Sept. 17 to bring students “puppy yoga.”
I was one of the last to arrive, so I sat in the back. Marty the yellow labrador was near me, a good boy who I’ve seen plodding around campus too many times to count. I wanted to pet him, but always refrained.
The puppies would go on to become certified guide dogs. Even if they’re not technically guiding anyone, you don’t pet service dogs when their harnesses are on. They’re working.
This time, however, their harnesses were off. I waited for my time.
“Welcome to Fitness Week!” The instructor said.
It began.
At first, I was hyper-aware of the two boys walking around with cameras. I only ever practice yoga in an empty apartment with my cat, Fawkes (Pronounced “fox”), as company. Now, I was surrounded by almost 50 other people, and it felt awkward.
“Nobody cares,” I thought. “This time is for you. Enjoy it.”
Then I heard panting.
I looked up, but it wasn’t Marty. It was JoJo, a black lab I hadn’t met before. She tugged on her leash as she made her way through a sea of pats and excited gasps. She stopped to sniff me, but continued past to lie on the concrete.
It took less than 15 minutes before the group of friends next to me asked one another, “How long is left?”
At this point, the cameras were gone. My mind and body had become limber as my breathing slowed. All three remembered the familiarity of being present.
At one point in my life, I couldn’t do this. Counting breaths seemed ridiculous, meditation was for hippies and the only “stretching” I could accomplish was touching my toes for 10 seconds after a 5-mile run.
I’ve always had a brain that doesn’t rest. I don’t know if it’s anxiety, creativity or simply the fact that I’m an Aries – the child of the Zodiac, always on-the-go – but silence has always bothered me.
My ears started ringing, my leg started shaking and I constantly worried I was annoying the person next to me, but I couldn’t make it stop.
Last year, I learned meditation. I learned that yoga doesn’t have to be hard; it’s supposed to be relaxing. Stopping for an hour to sit on a mat and stretch became easier, and now there I was, pitying the girls not enjoying it.
Then a wet nose touched my forehead, and I sprang up from child’s pose.
It was Marty.
He gave me a precious 5 seconds of attention before diving snout-first into a pair of running shoes he found particularly intriguing. He was pulled away, and I looked down as my phone lit up. I was thankful I had 20 minutes before I had to respond to the email.
At 14, I set “do a full split” as my New Year’s Resolution. I’m 21 now, and though I’m still not that flexible, I can study for hours in silence without shaking my leg.
I bug my friends to sit and stare at the sky with me as the sun sets every night.
I choose tea over coffee, because zooming around while half-assedly accomplishing things isn’t an accomplishment.
Marty kept nosing his way in front of me to sniff those Asics, but I was grateful. I had the ability to pet the puppy I had always adored from afar.
I was sweating outside on a mat, doing something for myself, instead of stressing over all the homework I had.
