Yoga and Me
Yoga is . . . . I
don’t know what to say. Four weeks ago,
at age 64, I started my very first yoga class ever. I’ve heard so much about
yoga. I know people who RAVE about what it can do for you. So I was prepared to
be wowed. And right now I don’t know how I feel about it. I can tell you what
it is NOT.
Fun—I had to cross that out because fun is something that makes me laugh and cheer and want to do it more,
like eating ice cream or watching funny movies or going to lunch with my
friends. Yoga is fun if I define fun
as twisting myself into pretzel shapes, sticking my fanny in the air (a move
called ‘downward dog’), and finding that I really cannot stand on one foot (‘crane pose’). At all. If I can include
pain in my limbs, heavy breathing from holding my weight on my arms, and sudden,
dramatic hot flashes in my definition of fun, maybe it’s working as fun. Umm,
no. And yet I admit that I keep going back, that I try to do the moves between
classes, and that I look forward to the class. Hmm.
Soothing and restful—I crossed that one out because even
though we breathe in and out slowly, I find I can’t breathe that slow. So I’m
always off breath from the instructor. When she is saying, “And on your exhale,
bring your arms down, palms together in front of you,” I am already on my
second inhale. So do I do a quick inhale and exhale so I am in step? Or do I
inhale as I bring my arms down, thus negating the positive effects of the
deeeep breathing that is so much a part of yoga? And I really really really
can’t make all the moves she makes. So I’m finding it a tad stressful because
‘pigeon pose’ causes pain in my hip, and I can never roll up to rest on my shin
with my hand stretching to the sky. To be fair, my instructor offers all of
these moves as “suggestions,” and she suggests other poses for those of us who
cannot do these. She does turn the lights down, and she speaks softly and
slowly and keeps encouraging us to breathe in and out. At the end of each
session, I stretch out as she suggests, feel the aches and muscles I did not
know I had. I rest to the point that I’m not sure I can rise. So perhaps that qualifies as restful. Let me think about that.
Graceful—hahahahaha! Okay, give me a second. I’ll admit I’ve
seen some graceful moves among yoga participants, but none of them was mine. I
have a dream of grace, but I’m never even close. When we move from
hands-and-knees to one knee forward and then to something called “threading the
needle”, which is putting your right arm between your forward knee and your
left arm, so that you come to rest on your shoulder with your backside in the
air, I tip over. I mean, I tip right over. When I try the ‘crane pose’, standing
on one foot with the other at the inside of my knee, I tip over. When I lie on
my back and stretch my left leg up toward the ceiling, then my right leg up
toward the ceiling, then lift my shoulders and arms toward the ceiling, so that
I am “balanced” on my gluteus maximus, I
tip over—then, I collapse. And I laugh. Because
what else can you do? And my instructor laughs and says, “And that’s another
way you can do it.” I guess that takes me back to ‘fun’.
So what is yoga? It’s a set of stretches and moves that are a
little beyond my ability. I’m not 35 any more (Or even 45. Or even. . .enough.). “Fun” is too strong a
term, but I like going. “Soothing and
restful”—only if that means I come home exhausted but calm and ready to sleep. “Graceful”
is only an idea, a dream. But I’m allowed to dream. Someday, maybe I’ll get
almost graceful. Right now, yoga is hard work.
No comments:
Post a Comment