Keeping Pace

Keeping Pace

learning first

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It’s been a week since I completed my second hundred hours towards my 200 hour yoga teacher certification.  The week was intense in a way vastly different from the intenseness of last year’s training in India. I learned all sorts of therapeutic approaches to yoga, anatomy as it relates to injuries and restoration, and a ton of information on yogic tradition. All fascinating. 

…in an overwhelming sort of way.

The idea that I will teach yoga to others now feels possible. Yet, I still feel like I have more to learn before I am ready to take this on — not just about the practice, but also about myself. 

what I can and can’t do

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On the way home from work, I pass the runners doing their post-work thing by the creek trail. I watch the ponytails swing and the sweat drip. It looks delicious. But I try not to long for this. I can’t. Not with a broken toe.

It is Monday night, and YaYa is off doing some volunteering at a local charity. He won’t be home for hours. It would be the perfect opportunity to attend the hot vinyasa for it is my favorite yoga class. Ah, but I CAN’T.

I can’t do much these days. But there are some things that I CAN do. I can now do child’s pose, get into a shortened downward facing dog, stand on my head, and do many of the arm balances that I love. It’s something; it’s just not enough to be able to attend a class. My pace is slow and my practice abbreviated. 

Yet, I do my best to give thanks for what I can do and let go of the disappointment of all that I am missing.

learning, the hard way, the importance of following the road map within

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The responses I get from people, when they find out I broke my toe doing yoga, are hysterical. “What? YOGA? I thought yoga was just stretching and meditation. How do you break a toe doing that?” Obviously, they haven’t been around these parts.

I’ll be the first to admit, I had no business going where I went last week. No business in the sense that I didn’t fully understand how to grow the pose I was exploring. I only knew I wanted to achieve it.

20130420 DSC 2954 JFMy mission towards grasshopper pose began after seeing the foundation of the pose in one of the photos I’d taken of the Vinyasa class. It seemed so clear to me on how to get there, I gave it go. From chair pose, I lifted my right leg and placed it across the top of my left leg (figure four), put my hands together in anjali mudra (prayer) and made the connection with the sole of my foot and my right upper arm. I was there. The foundation was set. 

The next night I decided I would take it to the next step. I repeated the initial sequence, then placed my hands on the floor and leaned in. From here, the only thing left was to lift off with my other leg. This is where it all went wrong for I didn’t know where I was going; I was just going.

Instead of lifting from the inner thigh, I lifted my leg backwards thereby tipping my body in such a way that my foot had no where else to go but slide off of my arm. I came down ON the toes — jamming them into the ground. It was not pretty. I rolled around on the floor, alternating between holding my breath and trying to take deep cleansing breaths while trying to refrain from letting the expletives fly. Then, when I was able, I crawled to bed.   

In my 2 ½ years of yoga practice, I’ve pushed the edge often. Oddly enough, I didn’t feel as scared to grow this pose as I have trying other poses of less difficulty. Even now, after having my practice sidelined once again, I look forward to trying it again. The difference is that I am now armed with the wisdom of my errant move. I have a new appreciation for checking my roadmap before I explore new territory. Because apparently I does make a difference.

Which brings me to the yogic philosophy of this experience?   

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Yoga Practice: Behind the Lens

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So, I was asked if I would bring my camera to the yoga studio to photograph one of the classes. The goal was to get a few shots for the studio’s webpage banner. I was honored, thrilled, and petrified all at the same time.

The owner, who made this request, is a talented photographer herself. Brilliant in her ability to visit far off places such as India and Peru and “bring it home.” I would have to step it up a few notches in order for the results to meet her needs. But I willingly took it on, calling her up to get her vision for the end-product followed by a field trip to the studio to get an idea of how to work with the lighting in the room.

It should be noted that this studio is a home away from home for me. It’s not just a place I go for a work out; it is a gathering place for the many yogis and yoginis I’ve come to call my friends. The vibe is welcoming and non-shushed. From the grand opening, over 2 years ago, we were encouraged to get to know one another by greeting the person on the mats on either side of ours, to push the edge and laugh out loud when we “fall out” of the pose. It is my community – which I have been missing in these last few weeks as my back has limited me to about 30 minutes of modified self-directed practice at home. It was like a reunion showing up there again.

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Class began as usual. I began clicking a few shots minutes before, adjusting the lighting, and finding my own yogic flow. I felt oddly connected – OMing along with them with my camera in hand. And a funny thing happened…

My eyes began to well up with tears. Okay, perhaps not such an odd thing – for me. These tears were NOT tears of being excluded from the class; they were tears of joy for the way I felt connected with them and with their practice. I wasn’t on my mat. I wasn’t doing the poses. But I was practicing yoga.

At the same time, I was practicing my photography. And when the sun blared through the window and the images when completely white, I used my pranayama to stay calm and ask my camera what it needed. This was my 1st time shooting in MANUAL: manual aperture, manual shutter, manual ISO, and manual focus. I studied the graphs, adjusted, viewed, adjusted, viewed, SWEATED, adjusted viewed… until I finally got an acceptable image. Intermittently, the sensor that confirms appropriate focus (because my eyes are aging) showed two arrows pointing towards each other. Whenever this happened I would whisper “WHAT?” I’d adjust to no avail. The images looked okay so I continued, taking it as message that Nikita (that’s what I call her) was throwing her hands up in the air and that her message was “I don’t know what you want either. This is ALL YOU.”

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Missing Hopkinton

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Memories of my trip to Massachusetts to run in the Boston Marathon are stimulated this morning as I watch the Boston Marathon posts hit my FB feed. I think back to that grand adventure — my gracious host, the sights and sound of Boston and the surrounding areas, the bus ride to Hopkinton, the RACE itself with its ups and DOWNs, and seeing Ryan and Kurt W. — and smile. 

Today, I sit at home, missing the bus ride to Hopkinton, and reflect.  It was such a beautiful experience. One built on 9 hard years of blood, sweat, and many tears. I don’t know if I’d appreciate it the same way if it just came easy. Who knows? All I know is that I look back at all the hurdles put in my way and smile with the deepest of pride. 

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