One Thing I Never Thought I’d Do During the Pandemic

For many months of the pandemic, one of the biggest mysteries I faced was how to livestream a yoga class from an almost empty, echoey hot room.

I mean, I knew others could, but I personally didn’t know how.

Something to do with a wireless microphone and a Zoom meeting and even perhaps an ice pack for the iPad.

It sounded intimidating, like something I couldn’t do.

With our state’s social distancing requirement, my studio is allowed 9 people in its classes (more on that here). Which means, of course, that live Zoom and virtual offerings are a huge part of how we continue to serve our members.

And Zoom classes? They’re actually great!

I get to see people’s dogs and kids jumping all over them while they’re in their poses.

I’ve spied spouses in the background for months, watching what’s going on before finally joining on in.

Even whole family affairs take place – I’m talking the mom, the dad, the college kids quarantining at home, and said college kids’ boyfriends and girlfriends all sweating together “at” my studio.

Not to mention, my community sees my whole world too. My dog, my kids, my husband, our home … they know as well as me the spots in my house where the internet goes out, and I’m sure they’re wondering – just like I am – when that damn pile of laundry in the corner of the room is going to put itself away.

When we re-opened the studio after four months of closure, we wholeheartedly decided to keep the Zoom classes going.

But I couldn’t ignore the rigid little budgeting voice hissing, “Payroll Budget … PAYROLL BUDGET!!!!!”

Alas, I could not double our class schedule by adding virtual offerings at the same time as in-studio classes.

Or could I…

A few of my studio owner friends convinced me that live streaming from my actual studio really wouldn’t be that hard.

Man, if this could work, I’d be so relieved.

Not vaccine-relieved, but close.

So I ordered even more electronic gear from Amazon, spent a day learning the microphone, tested a million Zoom meetings with my husband, and wouldn’t you know, we figured it out.

HALLELUJAH … WE FIGURED OUT THE LIVESTREAM!

Now, a few Saturdays ago was a particularly perfect day to tune in online and take our ever popular Hot Pilates class with one of our most epic instructors, Jordan.

It was raw and rainy and dark and cold, and our members could literally roll out of bed onto their mats for a kick-ass class. Not to mention, Jordan is fun and happy and as a person, she’s basically the opposite of 2020.

Needless to say, our people couldn’t wait!

Since by this point I’m essentially a technical wizardess, and if all goes to hell I’m sure Zoom would love to hire me for customer service and tech support, I shlepped over to the studio on this particular Saturday morning well before the class began in my most favorite onesie (yes I have a onesie) to set up the livestream.

Mic? Check.

Zoom? Check.

Fully charged iPad? Check.

At 9:30 A.M. on the dot, Jordan grabbed the iPad stand and took her eager and excited Hot Pilates Zoom students into class with her.

From out in the lobby I heard the beat of her music land, and I sank back into my chair.

Exhale.

Another class underway.

Midway through the relief of my next breath, my phone buzzed an urgent buzz.

Then again.

And buzzed yet again.

I cautiously peeked at the screen and saw emails zooming in (had to) from students … students who were taking the livestream class.

“It sounds like something’s wrong with the audio.”

Shit.

“We can’t hear Jordan.”

No!

“It’s super echoey… can’t hear a thing.”

Well what the actual fuck!!!

From our lobby, I stared into the studio room, willing Jordan, our sweet, bubbly, charismatic, powerhouse of a teacher to check something – anything – and fix it … whatever it happened to be.

Alas, she looked at me with her infectious smile and asked me with a thumbs up if everything was ok.

I stared back, frozen and felt a hot tear run down my cheek.

I knew that there would be no way I could solve this technical problem from outside the studio room. My one choice was to stealthily enter the studio room, grab the iPad, disconnect the teacher’s mic, and teach the class from the lobby.

If this was going to be done, it had to be done in a matter of moments in order to save the class from being ruined for everyone who was counting on it from home.

My heart thumped, and my headed pounded.

This is all just too much. This year, these hoops, this pivoting. What more will I do to stay in the game?

I caught my dark-circle-eyed reflection staring back at me though our big windows and felt the heat creep up from my stomach to my neck. Sweat pooled in my belly button under my cozy onesie … oh how I would kill to be wearing shorts and a sports bra at that moment.

A sports bra.

Or just a bra … any bra.

I wasn’t wearing one.

No.

The tidal wave of the past seven months hit me with the realization that I was about to teach our most popular class in my onesie … and I wasn’t even wearing a bra.

Apparently, there is more that I’ll do to stay in this game.

So, I slunk into the studio room, grabbed the damn iPad, unhooked Jordan’s mic and started teaching in the studio lobby plus one onesie, minus one bra.

Now, just so you don’t get the wrong idea, the whole “no bra situation” did not make for some x-rated class that you’d judge me for. The onesie – my beloved onesie – resembles a fashionable potato sack, not form fitting nor tailored in the least. It’s pajamas for goodness sake, made specifically for a tired grown-ass woman who’s living through a pandemic.

Get the picture?

Adrenaline carried me through the first few minutes, and when I finally found my legs I think I may have even made some joke to the class on Zoom about how I was teaching in a onesie.

About 20 minutes into the workout, Laura, another teacher who was finishing her shift pulled down her face mask and mouthed to me,

“Hey … want me to jump in and teach the second half?”

“Heck yeah!” I nodded back, and we ended up turning the the would be epic failure into kind of an epic comeback.

If the onesie-sans-bra realization was the tidal wave, then getting through the rest of the class and handing the reins over was the breath after surfacing despite being knocked around a bit, still miles away from shore.

Immediate crisis averted, but we’re still in this storm.

So here’s the deal: if I can give you three things to do when you feel like you’ve had a massive failure, here they are:

1. MOVE

As soon as you realize the failure’s occurred, do something to make it better. Yes, even if that something is taking a deep breath and assessing the situation. “Move” can mean physically move your body OR mentally get your wheels turning (or both).

Being stuck is the worst, so move in some way toward a solution — yes, even when it feels scary.

2. EMBRACE

Never in my wildest dreams did I find myself emergency teaching the trendy, upbeat, super fresh, ridiculously cool Hot Pilates class in a onesie without a bra. If this pandemic has taught me one thing, it’s to embrace the mess, the unforeseen, the unplanned, and the unexpected.

This isn’t a “throwing in the towel” mindset; rather, an opportunity to learn how we can still show up, support, love, lead, and thrive even when our expectations shatter.

Attempting to shift this stage of life right now into a pre-pandemic scenario will frustrate and discourage you. Yet if we ask ourselves, how can we fully embrace our situation now, things all of a sudden start to feel a bit brighter, more hopeful, and we’re able to find the humor.

3. LEARN

When all is said and done with the “failure,” ask yourself, ok, why did this happen and what can I learn from it?

In the case of my class, much to be expected this was a complete and total user error. To put it more clearly, I fucked up. That’s right, I plugged the wireless mic into the iPad … backwards.

But … why did this happen?

Sure I can sit here and tell you that I re-read the directions and communicated to my team with painstakingly detailed descriptions, pictures, and training videos, but why couldn’t I figure it out before class, when it mattered? Why couldn’t I figure it out especially when written descriptions and drawn icons pointed exactly to where the plugs needed to be inserted?

Put simply, I’d hit my max.

The past 7 months of planning and pivoting and improvising made me hit my wall. When it counted, when we hit that “curtains up” moment, I couldn’t deliver.

The biggest lesson I can learn from this one is that it’s time to take a rest.

And lucky for me, I have the best outfit in which to do just that.