Humble Your Warrior

I’ve practiced yoga for years. Hot yoga for the last few months. But last Friday I felt like a complete newbie.

I’d heard people talk before about sudden waves of emotion during yoga, about getting weepy or panicked, needing to rest. It had never happened to me before, so perhaps my inner warrior grew a bit… cocky.

The hot yoga class I take is an hour and twenty minutes. I went every weekday last week, so by Friday I was on my fifth day in a row. The first half of the class was great, though I did notice that it seemed even hotter than usual, well over 105˚. During the second half of the class, I found myself thinking about death.

That’s odd, I thought, as death is clearly not the intention I set at the beginning of this class. 

But it wouldn’t go away. Death was in my head. The deaths of loved ones, my own death, and whether or not I was going to die of a heart attack right there on the studio floor. I backed off, went to child’s pose, focused on breathing out longer than in. I couldn’t slow my heart rate and my throat began to choke with emotion.

Then I did something I’ve never done before. I left early. Never bailing on a class is something I pride myself on. After all, I’m the person that suffers through a class even with the worst of wardrobe malfunctions (which you can read about here). But maybe my pride had grown out of hand. I had to leave. I mouthed the words I’m sorry to the instructor, who graciously smiled and mouthed back it’s okay.

I’ve had three successful classes since then. I’m glad that it hasn’t happened again, but I also know that I’ll be okay if it does. It’s a practice, after all. And every now and then it’s good to humble your warrior. 

I don't see the word death in there anywhere, do you?

Relaxation and Ax Murderers

I'm a big fan of meditation. I try to listen to a hypnotherapy session a few times a week. This is a twenty minute recording during which a voice assures me of my general competence and fosters optimism about my dynamic and compelling future. Seriously, I'm not making this up. And while it may sound a little flaky, it works.

Last week I decided to listen to my meditation recording while relaxing in a hot tub. I could ease my mind and muscles at the same time. It would be the do-it-yourself equivalent of paying big bucks to be pampered at a spa. This is what I told myself.

I put my headphones on, blocking out all other sound.

I closed my eyes.

But after a few seconds, I stopped focusing on my dynamic and compelling future and started imagining an ax murderer creeping up behind me. Because there I sat, marinating in the hot tub with my eyes and ears closed off from the world, the perfect victim waiting for this guy to come along...

So I'm going back to meditating while in the safety of my home and behind locked doors, because I've learned that suffocating terror is a direct impediment to optimism. You learn something new every day.

New Kid on the Mat

I started yoga at a new gym. Granted, I'm no expert.

This right here...

Yeah, that's not me. I'm not even close.

But I have been doing yoga for many years. My mat shows sufficient deterioration, I can hold a pretty good dancer or camel, and my twig is nothing to sneeze at, either.

Recently I decided I wanted more yoga in my life, so I began attending classes at a new gym, to supplement the ones I already take. It's wonderful. I feel fantastic.

EXCEPT for the fact that I can't help feeling like the new kid on the mat. The new classes I attend are overcrowded and the regulars seem particularly wary of new attendees in an already cramped studio. Of course, the classes are crowded for good reason. The instructor is phenomenal. But as much as yoga involves strength and flexibility, it also involves peace and love and calm, and I'm not feeling much of those things when my classmates shoot daggers at me for adding one more body to the room.

They're not mad at me, of course. They're angry with the facility for providing its members with insufficient studio time, but they're taking it out on me. It's like being sold a ticket to a sold-out theater. It's not your neighbors fault, it's the theater's fault!! But wait... peace, love, and calm. That's better.

I spent much of the last class with someone else's shoes in my face. I was pressed up close to the wall where others had stashed their things, and by the end of the hour I'd built up a healthy resentment toward a particular pair of zebra print Danskos. (Peace love calm peace love calm)

I'm not giving up on the class. I'm going to suffer through being the new kid on the mat for as long as I have to. Most of my classmates will stay, but some will come and go, and eventually I won't be the new kid anymore. When someone else comes along to fill this role, I'm going to scoot my mat over and welcome them with a smile. And I'll sure as hell move my shoes out of the way.