Day 27

I am a FOGI…


According to my ten year old daughter, FUGs are fake UGGs. My daughter has a pair of UGGs and I have a pair of FUGs. I bought FUGs for two reasons: there wasn't any money left after purchasing the real ones for my daughter and I intended to wear them only in the house. I figured, "Why pay a lot of money if they will never see the outside of my house?" And for a time, they were indeed the warmest, most comfortable slippers imaginable.

Inevitably the day came when I wore them "just to the store." Then I wore them "just this once to run errands." Soon I was wearing my FUGs constantly. They were no longer the glorified house slipper I had originally intended. They became my go-to boots, but I was growing increasingly self-conscious about their imposter status.

I began to ask myself, "Why didn't I buy the real thing?" Part of the reason lies in the "Burnt Toast" syndrome as Teri Hatcher wrote. Moms tend to take the leftovers and settle for what no one else would want. I began to be embarrassed by my FUGs . When I would wear them out I made sure the bottoms were covered.

Today was a messy, rainy day and I grabbed my FUGs to walk to yoga class. I felt a small pebble in my right FUG. My first instinct was to take off my boot and shake out the pebble. But I was on a busy street and I only had minutes to get to yoga class. I decide I couldn't waste a second and instead of stopping I shook my foot so the pebble reamined in the arch of my foot. "I should really stop and shake the pebble out of my shoe," I thought as I rounded the corner to the yoga studio. But I didn't. I walked all the way to the studio with a pebble in my FUG. Inside the yoga studio, I quickly removed my boots. As usual, I hide them behind a chair instead of placing them in the rack marked "Shoes".

The yoga nazi was out and a new teacher took her class. She truly was the yoga whisperer- literally; she whispered through class and I could barely hear her over the music . Like so many other teachers, she called out poses I had never done before. I painfully realized that after all the yoga classes I have taken, I don't know a thing about yoga. I can't do a head stand. I can't do a full wheel. I can't do eagle arms and legs. I was the yoga equivalent of my fake UGGs; I was a FOGI- a fake yogi.

After class I was feeling a little depressed. I looked at my FUGs wet from trudging through the city streets and thought how much they were a part of me: wet, tough, and no-nonsense. Why should I be embarrassed by them? Haven't they seen me through snow, rain, sleet and more than a few miles?

I decided today that I will be proud to wear my FUGs and proud to be a FOGI. I step out of the studio and feel the small pebble in my boot. With a smile on my face I balance on my left leg, lift my right leg up, and like the true FOGI that I am pull off my boot and let the pebble fall. Getting out of the pose just like I got into it, I make my way home.

I vow to embrace my FUGs and to wear them guilt-free just as I embrace the fact that I am a wannabe yogi. I am a FOGI.
 
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Number of Hot Yoga Classes: 17