I studied yoga then with a woman named Margaret Pierce in a little building called the Quaker House. I remember the door open wide on nice days and a gentle breeze making it's way through the room and over my body. I remember moments of peaceful quiet after our class where she would serve us herb tea. I remember my body electric and strong. I remember my heart and mind calm. Eventually I got to the point where I practiced for 90 minutes a day and loved everything about it, and then I remember nothing - not why I stopped going, not why I stopped practicing.
While I wasn't paying attention things changed and "suddenly" I find I have a different body - one that I need to get to know. Maybe I got cocky. I was always the youngest in school, the youngest Mom...and, then, oops! First, the "guys" on the street don't see you. Then they call you "Ma'am". Now there is a stranger in the mirror. OK. Whatever. Now what?
Yoga.
After talking about it for a year or more I found a yoga studio and teacher that I like. I went to my first class on Sunday and I am stunned at how well I did. The teacher is an RN and I told her before class about all of my "issues". She paid attention. I pushed to keep up in class, but I didn't do that thing where I dig deep for the remains of my inner Hercules and use it all up. I pushed, but I paced myself. I am in this for the rest of my life. For the rest of the day I was afraid I would collapse, but all I felt was alive and strong. I was aware of muscles I hadn't been aware of in years, but I wasn't exactly sore and I certainly didn't hurt. I felt electric. It was baffling and exciting and inspiring. I want more!!
"I want more." Warning! Warning, Will Robinson! All day Monday I was giddy with excitement and luxuriated in how great my body felt. And, then it happened on Tuesday morning. I decided I'd do it myself. Cocky, so cocky. I stretched, and pulled. I flailed about. A little later at my desk I turned a certain way and POP! Something snapped in my back. Dammit! I can barely walk. I can't stand up straight. This is what happens when you don't listen to your body. So, I'm on anti-inflammatories and the whole shebang. But, I'm going to my chiropractor today and a friend is going to recommend a massage therapist. Gentle.
Slow and easy win the race. They certainly will win this race. This is a new body. I have to respect that and get to know it. It is almost 60. It is very overweight. It is weak, and tight. It is beaten down by the stress of trying to do too much, of trying to absorb the loss of a beloved step-daughter. I must be gentle. Powering through is now stupid. Slow and easy win the race.
This if for the rest of my life. I know that by gently returning to a regular practice of yoga I will change the trajectory of my future. I look in the mirror and work on loving who I see. The ship has sailed on being one of those beauties in the magazines. Now I get to be someone even better. As the joints in my hands grow misshapen I smile. I've always thought those old lady hands were cool because they hold the history of years of doing, touching, loving. The skin on my arms turns crapey, but instead of despairing I have taken to consciously rubbing oils and lotions into my body. Everything I did before was so mindless. I have no time for mindless any more. My remaining life is sacred to me. I use this brief period of injury to become more conscious, to forgive, to hold rapturously happy images of all the love in my life in my mind. I like this new woman I am becoming. I like that I am returning to conscious living.
I love that my teacher Margaret from all those decades ago is now my daughter-in-law Alice's yoga teacher. Alice is taking a pregnancy yoga class as she carries my granddaughter. The richness of that circle of life, living and love blows my mind. Life is good.
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