Continued from Learning to Love Yoga – Part I
When I was 25, I taught 7th grade science for a year in a lower income area. Every day after work I would drive to my gym, take a nap in the parking lot, and then head in for a workout. 7th graders are exhausting. By this time yoga had become more mainstream, and was offered a few days a week in the group exercise room at the gym. I still really idolized yogis; I wanted to be like that, to be chill and eat tofu and wear tight pants I looked awesome in. So I joined the class at my gym, and along with 3 other women (all twice my age), gave yoga another try.
The class was slow, and I felt just like I did when I was 12.
I hated all the holding parts, thinking to myself,
“how long have I been standing like this?” or “how much longer until the napping part?”.
This time I actually did fall asleep, and the instructor woke me up at the end of each class. At least I was relaxed, or maybe it was just that the 7th graders had stolen my will to remain conscious. Either way I took another break from yoga, still wishing I liked it.
My next yoga experience would arrive at the age of 29 at the gym I joined after moving to Long Island. I was now graduated from New York Chiropractic College (though I was still working on my Master’s Degree in Nutrition), and was working as an associate chiropractor. I lived with my now husband, Adrian, and two of his classmates from school; all three of them still in clinic. The gym was called – I wish I were making this up – Big Al’s Family Fitness. I think you can tell where I’m going with this part of my story.
I attended one yoga class at this gym taught by a thin, pale little man with a goatee and a huge gold necklace with a Sanskrit symbol on it. Like at my last gym, this class was in the group exercise studio, beautifully lit with buzzing fluorescent lights and open to the smashing noises of the weight room. Very relaxing. The class was pretty packed, and I took a spot in the back since I was new and hadn’t been to yoga in a while. I figured no one would notice me there. I wish I had been right about that.
Most of the class was fine, but towards the end, as I was laying on my back in a supine twist, Captain Gold Chain approached me. I prayed that he would keep walking, but instead he stopped just above my head. He leaned down, his necklace dangling, and started rubbing my shoulders.
As I prayed that this was normal, he asked,
“why are you so tense? What do you do for work?” “I’m a chiropractor?” I said, as if it were a question.
That was the last class I took at Big Al’s Family Fitness.
So far this story has been pretty bleak. But fear not – my love for yoga is about to arrive.
Fast forward to the summer before I got married – I was now 31. I saw a deal on Groupon for a yoga studio near my house, and I thought I would give it a try. After my other experiences, how bad could it be? It had been a few years, and this was a yoga studio, not a gym, so I hoped this time would be different.
The studio had two rooms, and my first class was at the one in the back with bamboo shading the windows. The music was tranquil, the room was warm, and there were people of all ages and abilities. We moved from pose to pose with little pause in-between, flowing through sequences with no time for me to wonder how long I’d been standing there. The 90 minutes flew by, and we all said “namaste” to the sound of a Tibetan Singing Bowl as the class came to a close.
Finally, I had learned to love yoga.
I don’t get to practice as often as I would like, but every time I return to Down Under Yoga I remember how far I’ve come and catch the yoga bug all over again. I guess sometimes it just takes 20 years to fully appreciate the things in your life. Or maybe that’s just me.
Have you ever stuck through something and learned to love it? I’d love to hear your story!
Leave a Reply