Why I became a goat yoga convert

I remember it vividly: wheels of the car furiously whirring around in the mud as they attempted to propel my dad's trusty banger up a small incline towards a farm in East Suffolk.

Windscreen wipers going like the clappers, my dad's patience wearing thin, and I, staring bleakly out the window - at the rain and the mud, knowing shortly I'd be lying in it, surrounded by a tribe of goats - and wondering what the hell I was doing.

I was on my way to 'goat yoga'.

And this, dear reader, is why...

What is goat yoga?

Good question. This time last year, I had no idea. I had just moved to Suffolk to write a book and had seen an advert for it in a local shop window.

My first thought was - rather obviously - YOGA FOR GOATS? WOWIEE!

My second was... err... hang on a minute...

In truth, I didn't care what it was. I just knew I had to investigate. I was going to be part of 'goat yoga'. Or take part in it. Or do whatever 'it' entailed. I had recently moved out of London and was terrified everyone would forget about me. I may not be memorable, I reasoned, but 'goat yoga' - by way of a strategic Instagram post - was surely unforgettable.

So it was that the following weekend, I found myself at Skylark Farm in Bawdsey encircled by a herd of kids. No, not human ones, goat ones. And no, they weren't doing yoga. I was.

Goat yoga was founded in Oregan, USA by Lainey Morse. In 2016, Morse had been diagnosed with autoimmune disease whilst going through a divorce and found one of the only things that never ceased to lift her spirits were her beloved goats.

She invited friends round to visit, one of whom was yoga instructor Heather Ballenger-Davis. Ballenger-Davis suggested teaching a yoga class as the goats freely wandered around, and that was it: goat yoga was born.

Why should you do goat yoga?

Morse describes it as a means of 'disconnecting with day-to-day stress, sickness or depression and focusing on positive and happy vibes'. An advocate of animal therapy, her new take on yoga was an instant hit, quickly making its way around the States and, shortly after, crossing over to the UK.

Skylark Farm in Bawdsey is run by Emma Aldous who moved to the region eighteen years ago. In 2013, she purchased a plot of land and, owing to her interest in cute 'puppy-like' kids, turned her hand to goat-rearing.

A few years on, the goat yoga movement started gathering momentum. "Everybody [kept] sending me videos of goat yoga in America and saying 'You should do this, you should do this!'

She contacted Diana Malone, an instructor who runs DM Yoga, and the pair agreed to join forces. Their inaugural class took place in June 2017, and they've been inundated with sign-up requests ever since.

"The lovely thing is, we were getting people that have no experience of yoga," says Malone. "And to me that’s really important - showing people what it’s all about, who would otherwise not even have bothered to have gone in that direction."

She adds, "The animals have been a really integral part of introducing more people to the experience of yoga."

I am one of those people.

It's not that I have no experience of yoga per se - I tried at school, I toiled at university, and on holidays, in fitness reviews for work. The 'inner peace' required, the 'patience', the 'calm' - for love nor money, I can't seem to find it. Any of it. Couple that with my physical inflexibility, and my aversion to exercise in general, yoga and I are unnatural bedfellows.

Goat yoga, however, is different. It takes you entirely out of yourself. I felt it at my first class last July, and at my most recent one, in the rain, in April.

There you are, trying to master downward facing dog, and instead of panicking you're doing it wrong, or your arse is too big, or worrying about those daily frustrations - which happens, doesn't it, in those sterile yoga studios that are so damn quiet, what else is there to do but THINK? - you're outside in the rain, and there's a kid gnawing away on your mat, or peeing on your foot, or attempting to mount you.

It's not for the squeamish. It's not for the precious. It's a no-no for those who care about getting wet. Or dirty. Or peed on. But if you don't mind about any of that stuff, I reckon goat yoga is for you.

"[Yoga] changes how people feel," says Malone. "They’ll come into a class and you’ll see their faces - they’ll be all frazzled, they're running in from the day job and they’re miserable or they’ve had an argument - so you settle them down and by the end all that burden’s gone.

"That for me, that’s it. We have the incoming look and the outgoing look, and it's just incredible."

"I’m laughing already and I’m not even in the field," she adds. "Because I know how lovely [the goats] are. What I want to do is get people moving. So whatever that looks like for them. [It] doesn’t matter if it’s the perfect yoga pose, [it] dosen't matter if you can do this, that and the other. I just wanna get people moving."

When can you do goat yoga?

Goat yoga classes at Skylark Farm run from the spring through to summer when the kids are teeny-wee and the weather at its best. Start of the season varies depending on when the kids are born - this year, it was April - but it continues throughout the summer until the autumnal chill sets in.

Designed for yogis of all ages and abilities, at £10.50 a class, I consider that a bit of a steal.

"[Goat yoga] is two-fold," says Malone. "Being with animals, you have that oxytocin release, that happy hormone, that 'feel good' thing. You get that with the yoga anyway, so really, it's like a double [whammy]."

If you're looking for a new form of exercise - one that's a touch different, a bit 'out there', and really rather fun - head to the country for goat yoga.

Give it a few minutes and you won't even mind about the pee.

Sign up for Goat Yoga at Skylark Farm with DM Yoga; dmyoga.co.uk