全班唯一的男生：瑜伽课上最不自在的那部分，其实只在他自己脑子里

• Practice Yoga

When I realized I was the only man in class, I spent the next hour convinced I didn't belong. Turns out, I was the only one who thought so.

(Photo: Logan Weaver | Unsplash)

Published October 9, 2026 05:05AM

I admit that I’m not exactly consistent when it comes to yoga. I mean, yes, I try to focus on my practice once a week. (Ahem. Or once every other week.) But with a hectic travel schedule and far too many hobbies, I tend to find myself dropping into classes whenever I have the time.

It was during a whirlwind work trip that I ended up in a new-to-me studio. Excited to shake off the stress of the day and delve inward, I grabbed a loaner mat and took a seat in the front corner of the room. I had gotten there early, so I closed my eyes and connected with a little pre-class breathing while a crowd of students slowly sifted in. They were followed by the teacher, who flashed a huge smile that put me at ease. Good vibes.

“Alright, ladies, welcome to class!” bubbled the teacher as she scanned the room. “We’re going to get going here.” As her gaze turned in my direction, her jawline seemed to tense. “Oh! I mean ladies and GENTLEMAN.”

But in the moment, I barely noticed the correction. Soon I was pushing up into my first Down Dog. As we worked through a Warrior series, the teacher’s voice floated above the class. “We’re going to lift our gaze up as we stretch into our Reverse Warrior,” she continued. “And remember, you can support that with a gentle half bind, girls.” Then she corrected herself. “GUYS. I mean, YOGIS!”

The outburst seemed to crack our teacher’s otherwise pristine composure. I looked around the room. Taking mental inventory, I quickly found the source of the disruption: me. In a room filled with 15 women, I was quite obviously the only guy.

It wasn’t abnormal for me to be one of two or three guys in a class full of women. In fact, I’d say that was pretty typical of the classes I usually attended. In retrospect, I hadn’t seen any other guys in class that day, although I hadn’t been looking for them, either. I simply assumed they’d be there like they always were.

With the teacher correcting herself almost every time she addressed the class, though, I went straight back to the place I had been trying to escape through yoga—namely, my thoughts. Had I read the online flier wrong? Was this a women-only vinyasa class? Was I an intruder throwing off the vibe of the entire class?

It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d missed a key detail. I had a bad habit of ignoring restaurant hours, dragging friends across town to locked doors because I hadn’t bothered to do a simple Google search. Then there was that time I showed up on time for my flight to Spain—a day late.

My face flushed. Here I was again, in another embarrassing situation, I told myself. Déjà vu.

Class carried on as the teacher strained to keep her cues straight. To my knowledge, there were no dirty looks or pointed whispers being thrown in my direction. Yet with each verbal hiccup, I imagined everyone’s eyes shifting more and more toward my corner. I shut my eyes and tried to focus on my breath, but suddenly everything felt uncomfortably hot.

The minutes dragged on and any calm I’d hoped to find was replaced by dread. I told myself that eventually, I’d probably have to explain myself after class. Would the teacher have words? Would the class turn on me? This was not the Tuesday stress-releasing drop-in I’d anticipated.

Feeling like an idiot for seeming to be in the wrong class, I worked overtime to nail every pose and prove that I respected this class—this art form—and belonged here. As we settled into some long-held planks and a few extended lunges, I couldn’t help but think that some of these moves might be the teacher catering to—or maybe punishing—the one guy and his obviously tight hamstrings.

When Savasana mercifully arrived, I struggled to keep my thoughts on the mat. Maybe I could sneak out before people opened their eyes? Wait, the teacher already has her eyes open. Shit.

As we slowly rolled onto our sides and came back to sitting, my palms went clammy and my mouth went dry at the impending public humiliation. This was it. As the light came on, I blurted, “I’m so sorry!” to no one and everyone.

A series of giggles and a few headshakes followed. “I must have read the website wrong. I didn’t realize this wasn’t a co-ed class.” More giggles. The teacher cut through my spiraling shame. “You weren’t wrong,” she assured me. “Our classes are always mixed gender. Chalk this one up to coincidence.”

I looked around again, finding smiles instead of sneers. Everyone else had already moved past it and were rolling their mats and heading toward the door to return to their lives, just like they always do. “Thanks for coming in,” the teacher continued. “We’re glad you came.”