Two Sundays ago, I decided staying in bed as long as possible was preferable to anything else, including going to yoga with my husband.
Dedicated to fitness (and routine) as he is, my husband still went.
He had lost his mat, so he took my yoga mats. (Yes, mats. I have to use two because my knees need the padding. After all, I am 38 and a half!)
Two days later (yep, that’s right, on a Tuesday), I was getting ready to go to yoga and couldn’t find my mats anywhere! Where did he put them? They weren’t in either car, under the bed, or behind the couch. I decided to go ahead and go, and just use the floor and one of those awful, sweat-slimed, foam pads they provide at the gym for my poor aging knees.
I got to the gym, and in a fit of inspiration, practicality, and need, I decided to buy a mat from the gym store and give my husband his birthday present early. (We sometimes meet during the week for yoga. Yes, I know, we live a charmed life. Don’t be envious. It’s not always rosy. We do have four kids. Remember that: FOUR kids.)
Chatting before class, I joked with him, “Happy Birthday. Here’s your birthday present.” We talked about the mat, poked fun at the model’s posture (check out her shoulders!), and I complained about how slippery it was.
He asked me if one of the sides was absorbent, so I began scrutinizing the label and found THIS:
Great. A toxic yoga mat. An “Ecofitness” yoga mat that causes cancer. Could you print that Proposition 65 warning any smaller?
Talk about “greenwashing!”
Calling something “eco” and including a picture of a green leaf doesn’t mean anything anymore.
It off-gassed through the class, as the instructor kept reminding us to breathe deeply.