I’ve been asking that question for a while. The idea of merely holding poses and stretching limbs did not constitute a form of exercise in my addle-brained estimation. But my yoga-loving daughter and my fitness guru friend have been barking at me of late to try it as something to do a few times a week as an adjunct to strength training and cardio bursts.
I’ve always thought myself to be more flexible than many in my age group, but recently I’ve noticed that I’m not great at getting up off the floor without using both hands. Ugh! In my mind, a bird’s eye view of me suddenly has me looking like an 80-year old as I rise from the depths with all limbs engaged. And soon the line from the movie Network (“I’m mad as hell and I’m not gonna take it anymore!”) springs into my consciousness. I had promised my daughter. I had boldly told my fitness friend I would do it. I had no choice.
So I look online to see if my health club offers yoga classes and sure enough, the little icon announcing their existence on nearly a daily basis appears on the charted web page in front of me. I would go the next day.
At an ungodly hour of the morning, a sea of multi-aged women is stretched out before me as I enter the large gym-like room of my health club. They sit on thin pieces of foam, extending limbs in various directions as the instructor hands me a mat to use. As I head to the back of the room, the lights dim and some pulsating, rhythmic music begins to play softly in the background. I can get used this kind of serenity, since it has already been a no-Starbuck’s morning and I am not a particularly good early riser.
The instructor speaks in a sultry, relaxing voice as she asks us to breathe, holding her hands in a prayerful pose. Then she begins to use a language everyone in the room but me seems to understand. The words are in English, but the meaning behind them prompts all the other women to change positions as they stretch arms, stick legs in the air and balance on parts of their bodies I didn’t know were balancing points. Slowly, we become human pretzels, doing “downward-facing dogs”, “child’s-poses”, “cobras”, “lords of the fishes” and “conquering warriors.” As my limbs are asked to do entirely new tasks, I am told to relax and breathe deeply. It’s all I can to do hold the poses and not fall over. And it hurts. My constant need to look up and see what the instructor is doing doesn’t help, since it’s the only way I can begin to understand what a “conquering warrior” looks like.
An hour goes by fairly quickly when someone is telling you to let go of the stresses and heavy thoughts of the day as you exercise in cocktail bar lighting. I’m bad at it, but I like it. It’s not as easy as it looks, though, and it will take me time to strike poses without feeling as if I am a tree about to fall over in a part of the woods where everyone would notice. But I will explore this further, and I will someday learn to be an upside down tortoise.
Mostly because I don’t want to be one of those hunched-over chicks that still wears high heels.
Namaste.
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