You just never know what you’re going to find going on around here on any given day. Yoga. Whodduh thunk?
I tried it once at my gym and was not a fan. I never went back.
My daughter is going to a studio and said it’s a whole different experience than gym yoga. I grudgingly went, and enjoyed it in a masochistic kinda way, but a week went by with no repeat performance so I was prepared to let it go.
The daughter wasn’t having any part of it. She’s decided it’s something I should be doing, and is going to be relentlessly nagging me to go. I grudgingly gave in again. And as much as it pains me to admit she’s right, she is. I need to do this. And I need to put on my big girl panties and do it on my own without having to be nagged into it.
So here’s the deal.
The place we’re going does Vinyasa Flow. In the beginner classes they set the heat at about 80 degrees – not hot enough. In the all-level class it’s 90 degrees +. Much better. I love a good visit to the sauna. Adding the exercise is much more challenging, but again good in a masochistic sorta way. (I’m thinking I may be a masochist at heart.)
(Tried to insert a photo of me and my chicken skin waiting for class to start, but I’m getting a “try again later” message. So, I’m going to publish now without it. Ha! It may be a visual you didn’t want stuck in your head anyway!)
I love that in the all levels class, there is no snootiness. You are encouraged to stretch yourself (pun intended!) but also to respect what your body is capable of doing at that moment. I love that. And it helps that my friend, Renee, who teaches yoga in another state has already impressed upon me that you go to the mat with what you have, and you do what you can do, modifying whenever you need to, without worrying about what anyone else will think. So, I was not intimidated. I did what I could do.
They have assistants that come around to help you with poses, and in some cases, just to massage you with yummy smelling oils. There is a coin you can put at the top of your mat if you don’t want to be touched, and another one for light touching only. I couldn’t find the one that said “just rub me the whole class” but I’m sure there MUST be one. I just LOVED it when she came by and gave my spine a good stretch. There is a special place in Heaven for people who are willing to do that for sweaty, fat infused, strangers. There really is.
Anyway, I sweated and modified my way through the class, marveling at the beauty and grace of the poses many of the people could do, and being blown away by the ones who could go into straight up hand stands with no support and stay there. I praised myself just for not dieing. Towards the end of the class, one of the poses was called a half pigeon. I leaned over and told my daughter I was doing a dead pigeon instead. That’s me. Class clown.
During the rest and relax period I couldn’t help but feel badly that I had let my body get to where it is. That I had been so disrespectful to the vessel God had given me to house my soul here on earth. But I also felt encouraged that, in time, and with some effort, some, if not a lot, of the damage could be reversed.
So, I’m not mad at her anymore for badgering me into going. In fact I’m glad. I may be crabby again next time, but I think as time goes by, I’ll be less crabby, and I’m even hopeful that eventually I’ll look forward to it.