Bending In a New Direction ~ Yoga

A common word yoga instructors use while guiding the class through a difficult pose, is “eventually” -- “eventually,” and “someday.” Eventually, your ear will rest on the floor. Someday your leg will be perpendicular to the mat. Eventually you’ll be able to reach for the other hand. When I started practicing three years ago, everything was an “eventually.” First and foremost: eventually you won’t feel like dying after 90 minutes of class. Eventually that was true, but it was a long road. I came to yoga because I was injured. Injured again. From running. It seems all I have to do is sign up for a marathon and my IT Band creates a pain so ridiculous and debilitating it makes running all but impossible. If my body had access to language it would say something along the lines of: “So you think you’ll train for a marathon, eh? Try running through this pain, shithead…” The first time it happened I tried to run through it, thinking pain and struggle are but a natural part of running. I ended up sidelined for over three months, all the while visiting physical therapy twice a week. That is precisely what happened three years ago after I signed up for the Rock-n-Roll marathon in Seattle. My training began ramping up, and in short order my IT Band reacquainted me with the pain it is capable of inflicting. I tried stretching, foam rolling, shoe inserts, extremely technical shoes a team of the world’s finest scientists engineered (one would imagine anyway, from the price alone) and as I mentioned – physical therapy. In utter frustration, I went on the Runners World website for advice. I wanted answers, and moreover, solutions. And there it was all over the forums – runners doing yoga for injury prevention… A long term solution. I was in. I won’t say I thought yoga would be easy. But I certainly didn’t think it would be hard. I had passed studios while an entire class held what looked to be a peaceful pose, eyes transfixed on something seemingly far off in the distance. It all looked very calm, and graceful. Okay, I’ll admit it. I kinda thought it would be easy. I arrived on my first day to 90 minute hot power yoga in old running pants and a tech shirt. The door flew open as I stood hesitantly before it, and a woman in a tiny tank top and tight capri pants emerged fanning herself. “Whoa! It’s a hot one in there today,” she said. And yes, sure enough a gust of dry, hot air followed her. Very hot air. Coming in from the 50 degree morning, it felt good for exactly 4 seconds before it began to feel vaguely uncomfortable. I found a spot I hoped would be inconspicuous to lay my mat down. I had purchased this mat 7 years earlier when I did prenatal yoga videos (my only yoga experience to date) while pregnant with Peyton. The air began to quickly remind me of Lake Havasu – the desert lake we would go waterskiing in as kids. The weather was such that we wouldn’t dare stay out for longer than five minutes without submerging ourselves in the water. The room was filling up quickly. I had to shuffle over a few times to make room for newcomers until all of our mats were less than 10 inches apart. The woman who ended up on my left regarded me for a moment. “This your first time?” she asked, looking at my shirt and pants. She was wearing a tiny tank like the first woman, which was beginning to make sense given the intense heat. I nodded. Then she asked, “Where’s your towel?” I held up the towel I brought – a washcloth-size square. Her eyebrows shot up at this. “That,” she told me ominously, “won’t be enough.” As I was seriously considering marching my already perspiring, over-dressed, under-prepared self right back out the door into fresh 50 degree air, the door breezed open and a vision of core muscles, blonde hair, lovely smiles, and tiny yoga shorts entered the room. It was the instructor, and probably fittest woman I’d ever seen in real life. She sat cross legged in front of the group and chatted for a moment. When class was ready to begin she asked if it was anybody’s first time to her class. I raised my hand and explained that I had done, you know, like… lots of prenatal videos, er, like 6 or 7 years ago –? Yes, 7 years ago… She nodded kindly and suggested I keep an eye on the woman to my left – the one who had already essentially told me I was screwed due to my towel choice. I’m a runner, I told myself. I can do this… But as the class went down into child’s pose, I was more than a little bit unsure. By the time we hit the first downward dog I knew I was in for it. My shoulders burned explosively and I shook under the pressure of my own body weight as the instructor informed the class, “This… is your resting pose.” The sweat that had started accumulating before class started was flowing in earnest now, dripping into little pools on my mat. I had 85 more minutes of class to survive. We did crow. We did bird of paradise. We did eagle, and we did pigeon. All the major birds were covered. We did one-legged balancing poses, and planks and an abdominal portion that would make any normal human weep… I tried my hardest to keep up but I’m sure I must have spent a significant part of the class standing there with my mouth gaping. It’s lucky they don’t have mirrors in the yoga studio. If I had caught a glimpse of myself at any point I may have never come back. But I did come back. Because, even though after class I felt very much like dying, and barfing, and/or passing out, I was intrigued. During those early months practicing, I approached yoga very much like a difficult run in which the goal is simply to complete it, and not die. Each pose was a challenging obstacle I wanted to conquer. It wasn’t until many classes later, when I had adjusted to the heat and could do many of the poses without fear of keeling over that I heard the instructor speaking to us. The first thing I heard, which she had probably been saying all along, was “let it go.” Such a simple invitation, and yet when I really heard it, processed it, and made a concerted effort to “let it go” it was quite incredible. Then there was the breathing. All along the instructor had been encouraging one breath per movement. Deep Inhale… Long Exhale… I began practicing that as well. And for quite some time -- months and months, that is where I was with yoga… Letting it go, breathing, and trying to keep up. Somewhere in there, the poses started to become more accessible to me, and what’s more, instead of making me want to curl up and go fetal on my mat, the challenging poses started to feel good. And that’s when it happened: yoga became invaluable to me – just as, if not more enjoyable at times than running. I will never give up running. It is a love of mine I am committed to – even though I am aware of our sometimes dysfunctional relationship. Yoga is a different experience all together, and more of a mystery to me. Yoga gives back in ways I could have never imagined. Every now and again, during a particularly twisty or challenging pose – one that causes the mind to roam in a thousand different directions that all seem pinpointed toward a very specific concept: “this sucks and I want it to end”… Something sinks in… or peels away… or both. It is an incredibly vulnerable state to put the body in, but also strangely powerful. It has also allowed me to see that yoga, in many ways, is a metaphor for life. Doing something challenging and uncomfortable in class with composure and strength is very much like riding out a difficult situation in life. And to prove this point, life has dealt me some pretty serious upheavals this last year. I have never been more eager to get to my mat. I am still so very new to yoga. There are years of learning and practicing ahead of me, and that is one of the things I love. There are many, many “eventually's” and “somedays” I am looking forward to meeting on the other side.