I first started doing yoga with a girlfriend of mine who was
this ultra hip, California
import named Finola. I can’t remember why she dragged me along initially but I
think it was because she was looking for something comparable to the yoga
studios she attended in California .
She was into all these super natural remedies, positive
vibes and curing yourself with life experiences and healthy foods. I guess I
could say that she really started my love affair with all things natural and
organic (well, her and the guy who used to service my air conditioner but
that’s another story) and to be fair, I probably owe my fondness for the yoga
practice to her too.
I guess she helped me realize how much I love the earth,
nature, and its ability to heal us.
I begged and pleaded with her to find something else for us
to do, citing my total lack of athleticism as an excuse for why I just could not do yoga with her. “I’m not a
cool California
native,” I grunted uncomfortably, “I can’t do yoga. That’s just not me.” She
kept assuring me that being athletic wasn’t really a requirement, that it was
more meditation than exercise, and that I would get “banging yoga arms” if I
just gave it a shot.
And then, much to my even further dismay, she told me that
it wasn’t the typical yoga style she practiced in California . (I want to say that she
preferred Bikram or Barre yoga but it was so long ago it’s hard for me to
remember.) “This is in a ninety degree heated room,” she told me with excited
brown eyes, “you’re going to burn so many calories, girl.”
“Is that a joke?” I snapped at her in her little swanky Mini
Cooper. “I’m going to die.” She kept promising me I would be fine, that I would
thank her soon because I would love it, and that I would be expelling a bunch
of nasty toxins. And while it seemed like there were too many benefits to
really keep track of, I was still super nervous and unsure.
I’m probably like the most uncoordinated, un-athletic person
that ever lived. I’ve said this before and I will say it again, I only workout because I have to. If it wasn’t good for me, I
would NEVER do it.
Be where you are, not
where you think you should be.
Listen, I loved it. I’ll be honest, I can’t really remember
the very first time I went to yoga because I have been so many times since. I
went with Finola that first time and immediately got a membership because I was
literally so obsessed. I quickly started immersing myself in anything she
suggested because she seemed to really understand what life was about. Yoga
wasn’t just exercise, it wasn’t just ridding your body of toxins; it was practice, it was lifestyle, it was religion.
I went to that same yoga studio for a long time and I bugged
a bunch of other Victoria ’s
Secret girls to go with me before I realized that I no longer needed the
company. I was in love with this and I didn’t need anyone to hold my hand.
It was about me and my practice.
I felt amazing after a really short time of going fairly
regularly and I was in the best shape of my entire life, to this day. I started
to get kind of cocky after awhile because what happens with yoga (at least in
my experience) is you get super flexible and your body just sort of melts into
the poses. Maybe in the beginning you couldn’t bend over and touch your toes
without bending your knees. But after a few weeks or months, you’re able to do
a forward fold and touch your forehead to your shins without even giving your
knees some slack.
It’s a truly amazing thing to engage in. I obviously highly recommend it.
Well, pretty soon life happened. The amazing studio that I
went to was no longer new and offering special pricing so it was harder for me
to afford it. (Let me just drop this disclaimer because it’s super important:
Yoga can be pricey and usually costs more than a gym membership but it is so worth it.) I started working weird
hours because I was in school, which made it harder to attend the classes I
liked even if I could afford them. I
was also still paying for a gym membership and was feeling guilty about not
using that enough to get my moneys worth.
Then I graduated college and things changed again. I got a
different job, in my field of study, and I decided that since I had done the
proper grown up things, I wanted to continue that way of life and start my
family. And although I swore up and down I wanted to work out throughout my
pregnancy, it was super hard because I worked a lot (social work ain’t no joke, friends) and I had a stupid
commute. The last thing I thought
about was working out and yoga just seemed harder and harder everyday with my
growing belly.
Then I had a kid and well, forget it. What’s sleep? What’s
me time? What’s a workout? Those things didn’t exist for a while because hey, I
had a baby and she came first. My coveted yoga arms would just have to wait.
Moral of the Crazy:
For the last few months, my super cute, hippie neighbor has
been asking me to go to yoga with her. She’s this adorable little newlywed that
massages people and sells oils (www.mydoterra.com/catladywellness)
for a living. She’s all about the natural life and goes to yoga all the time at
various studios. She even has a little yoga/meditation room in her house. She’s
always offering me cool recipes and oil concoctions to help with my minor
ailments and household needs. The other day I was like, “Quick! What do I spray
my sheets with to make them smell good that doesn’t
have a bunch of harsh chemicals in it?”
The last umpteen times that she’s invited me to yoga, I’ve
been unable to go because I never seem to have a babysitter. But this one day,
it totally worked out. And I literally have felt the old me creeping out since
I walked into that studio with her. (Warrior One in Dunedin , in case anyone is curious.)
I have to admit, I was a little nervous about going,
especially with her, because she’s so cute and fit and I’m just not. But then,
she reminded me, “It’s not about that. It’s yoga practice, not yoga perfect.”
She gave me some oils to get me pumped up before we went inside but I’ll be
honest, I don’t know that I needed it.
It was absolutely the most refreshing hour I have spent in a
long time. I guess I had forgotten
all the really motivating affirmations the instructors say in between
instructing poses. With everything the instructor (also named Katie M.) said, I
nodded with excitement and got more and more motivated. I kept thinking to
myself, “You’re home; this is your religion, this is your exercise, this is
your calm space. No one can take this away from you.”
And you know what’s so crazy? Sure, I’m severely out of
shape but I really pushed myself and I wasn’t half bad. There was even one move that I had never done before but
between the oils and the positive affirmations, I just gave it a shot and you
know what? I DID IT. Can you believe that?
Me: about twenty pounds gained, no consistent workout
routine (because of baby) and trying to
diet but sometimes sucking at it because I just want all the carbs. I. Did. It.
When we were in the end stages of the session, I winked at
my super cute, hippie neighbor and stuck my hand out for a high five. “You sell
yourself short,” she told me on the way home, “you did way better than I thought you would the way you talk about
yourself.”
I literally have never felt more myself lately than I did on
that yoga mat, super sweaty (it was hot yoga, my personal favorite after all
these years) and aching from the stupid bicycles she made us do at the end. I
felt so accomplished and whole and motivated. It was an amazing way to start
the day.
And you know what? I’m going with her again this Friday. At
six o’clock in the morning! Because besides maybe giving birth to another
human, I don’t know that anything has made me feel more alive or more like
myself.
You guys, I challenge you, especially you moms out there, to
find something you really love and just run with it. Because no matter where
you are or how rundown you might feel, you’re worth it.
And you owe it to yourself to do something that gives your
soul pleasure. Because no one is going to do that for you.
Namaste.
It’s not about being
good at something; it’s about being good to yourself.
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