Most weeks - well, I like to tell myself it's most weeks, and I really mean for it to be - I take a cheap one-hour yoga class, Tuesdays at noon. I made it to class this week.About 10 minutes into class, a couple new guys showed up. Young, maybe early twenties, slimmer than me and probably way more in shape from surfing or whatever. They had decided, for whatever reason, that they wanted to try yoga. Okay, no problem, the teacher got them started and when it sunk in that yoga was strenuous, joked about how people thought it was for "old ladies who can't do aerobics."
It was a hot day, and we were all sweating. About 45 minutes into the 1-hour class, we'd just finished some standing poses, and the teacher was starting to demonstrate a balancing pose we were going to attempt next. I'd wound up in the front, with one of the new guys behind me and the other behind him.
Suddenly, there were a couple loud crashes from behind me. The teacher looked horrified. We all whirled around, and one of the new guys was lying on the floor off to the side, unconscious, twitching and bleeding from a nasty-looking gash in his forehead.
As best as I can figure it, he'd gotten dehydrated or overheated, started to stumble toward something - water, a fan, the door? - then blacked out, gone headfirst into the corner of a pillar, and hit the floor, hard.
We all got to practice rudimentary first aid - wet towels, water, fan, et cetera - and then once he was feeling a little better, we wrapped up with Savasana, a pose which involves lying on one's back and relaxing.
When I left, the teacher was still checking on his injury, trying to figure out whether he'd need stitches... he said he'd be there again next week, though! I hope he is, and I'll have a lot of respect for him if he makes it.
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