When I first thought about taking a yoga class, I was expecting to be inflexible and stiff like a toy soldier playing twister. That’s just stupid. I like fast, action-packed sports that get the blood moving and the heart pumping, not stretching for an hour and calling it a day.

The instructor sat down and we got in a peaceful sitting pose with our hands relaxed on our laps. So far, so good. The next step: take a deep breath. Piece of cake.

Now, the next step I thought it was a myth. That’s right folks, the famous “Ooooooaammmmmm” exercise.

When I first heard the instruction, I was fighting back laughter. After gathering myself to do a few “oams”, I was transformed into a state of nirvana.

I was in this thing 100 percent, giving every stretch my all. After 40 minutes, I found out there are two types of yoga poses: One that makes you say “Oh wow, that’s an awesome stretch,” and the more common one that makes you think “Oh god, I need to fart.”

But who cares if you fart? Nobody. You really can’t say that anywhere else. Fart on the bus? Nobody wants to sit next to you and you get dirty looks. Fart in class? You have made no friends and you lost any ones you thought you already had.

If you break wind in a yoga class, they nearly applaud you for relaxing your body to such a calm state. That’s not just a custom, the yoga class is a culture of smelly, sweaty people who may or may not have brushed their teeth, let alone showered that very morning.

I had a great time and I met some very supportive strangers along the way. At the end of the day, I was glad I got to finally experience yoga. I was even more glad it wasn’t hot yoga.