Women who state yoga as a thing they do actually spend more time thinking about doing it than actively doing it. Stiff desk-based software engineer Jemima Bennett regularly sits on the sofa in loose clothing in the position of the basking meerkat binge watching Bridgerton. Each time the adverts come on she decides that at the next ad break she’ll stop watching telly and do some yoga from the DVD she bought in 2004. This sits next to two other still shrink wrapped yoga DVDs. Despite streaming all other media Jemima needs to do yoga from a DVD because otherwise she gets lost in what she should be bending when. She has never got to the end of the DVD. About once a year she completes the first fifteen minutes of the DVD and then spends the next week prancing about like an agile flamingo.
Periodically Jemima decides that going to a class instead of doing yoga at home will motivate her. She then decides none of the local classes are at the optimum time. She mentions this to fellow bendiness-dodger Lucinda and they both sit in the regretful salmon pose by a coffee table with a plate of Bonne Maman Chocolat Caramel Tartelettes (unarguably the middle class Twix).
Both women stand in front of their wardrobes in the posture of the irritable wombat and suffer guilt over the enormously expensive, barely worn leggings they purchased despite yoga not needing special clothes. The leggings have a pocket. This is a win. Months pass in the firm sloth posture and then a microdose of yoga is achieved again.