In this season of training-less-ness I have taken to practicing yoga. Now, I am not exactly a stranger to yoga, I have taken the odd class or workshop, but I have always stopped short of committing to a regular practice. I found every excuse, money, patience, time, 'I need to be active, the pace of yoga is too slow' I would say, but really it came down to fear. Would I be able to keep up with the class? I lived with the anxiety of doing it wrong and the anxiety of needing help, adjustment. Better to just avoid it, eh? After all, it was not as if I was neglecting my physical health.
I am not quite sure what gave me that final push -- but I decided to go, to a class at the local Y. It was a hot summer day. It turned out the usual teacher was away on vacation, which was fortuitous -- she did not know I was a new student and I could blend in, any awkwardness disguised by the new situation all around. I arrived at class dry mouthed and nervous -- but I left the class with a renewed sense of calm and well being. As trite as it sounds, the very thing I was so resistant too was the very thing I needed.
Now, missing yoga sets my week into an unbalanced state. I am learning, slowly, and learning to work with my bodies quirks, appreciate my certain grace-less-ness, and with that and in that the strength of my body and my spirit. Letting go, piece by piece, of that sense of perfection, of worth in perfection, letting go of my facade and feeding that energy into my body into my practice. I still run fast, work on speed but yoga allows me to open and stretch myself, little by little, sometimes imperceptibly. I am learning that I need not fear the quiet and calm.