I was really struck by Matt’s post on Chasing Success, especially the part about how quickly you sometimes “progress” in the beginning of your yoga practice. For me, that post hit very close to home, and I wanted to share my thoughts.

Before I started practicing regularly, I couldn’t even touch my toes. Touch my toes, kids. I was TWENTY-SIX YEARS OLD. And my toes were out of reach. Also, I would get ridiculously sore after every class. Like, it-hurts-too-much-to-lift-my-arm-and-brush-my-teeth-sore. Honestly, when I first started, I didn’t even know hips could stretch, or where my hamstrings were. I would sashay down the grocery store aisles, not sure why my hips felt like jello, thinking, why is my butt so sore? I knew 4 muscle groups: arms, legs, butt, and abs. It was not a pretty picture.

After a few weeks of yoga, that started to change. It didn’t take long at all, and before the month was over, I was getting up into headstand. A few classes later, I did a rotating headstand. I busted out astavakrasana after two months. I felt like I was born for this, and should probably see about getting yoga into the Olympics and training for my new career as an Olympic yogini. Because see, that’s how I still thought of yoga: that’s how competitive I was.

Thankfully, I got a little reality check. I started to learn what yoga was really about (at least for me… some people still want to see it in the Olympics, but that’s not my bag anymore), and I started to respect it for what it was. I also began to see my journey through yoga less as “progress” than I did as a way of building my relationship with my body, my balance and focus, and my practice. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that while, yes, my body did change once I started practicing–it got stronger and slightly more flexible– what really changed was how well I got to know my own body. I got to know my own strength, and how to balance, and how to stack and align my joints to make the poses “click” rather than muscling my way into them. I learned how to push through what I thought was my end range. I learned how to actually stretch. I learned to trust myself, and that even if I did face plant in an arm balance, my face was only a few inches from the floor, and falling didn’t hurt. I learned that even if I did try taking handstand off the wall and forgot to engage my core like mad and my feet went sailing over my head, I could catch myself, or at least cartwheel down. I could fall and not flail terrifyingly out of control.

Who am I kidding, I’m still learning. Donkey kicks still scare the crap out of me. But I’ve taken the word “progress” down a notch, and am thinking of it more like making acquaintance with all my muscle groups. I still get stronger, I still get more flexible, but I’ve also learned not to flip out at myself for being too tired to get into parsva bakasana. I am learning to ignore the urge to “win,” to “progress,” to “conquer” the splits or tittibhasana.

I am, ironic though it is, learning to play.

Well, not really a manifesto. But I’m reading To Kill a Mockingbird with my students this summer (one of my favorite books of all time… if you haven’t read it in the last decade, do so!) and it really got me thinking.

This is one of my favorite passages in the book. It comes just after Ms. Dubose, the horrid neighbor who terrorized Jem and Scout as children, dies. When Atticus tells his children about her death, he reveals that she battled a morphine addiction, and instead of resenting her, Scout and Jem should respect her. At the end of Part I, Atticus says:

“Son… I wanted you to see something about her– I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do. Mrs. Dubose won, all ninety-eight pounds of her. According to her views, she died beholden to nothing and nobody. She was the bravest person I ever knew.” (Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird, page 149).

Of course, that gets me thinking about intentions, and my practice, and all the fights I’m fighting even though I’m “licked” before I begin. Do you forget about all that when you’re on your mat? Or do all your efforts and struggles somehow inform your practice?

Some of you have witnessed my battle first-hand. You’ve come to class a few minutes early, seen me inches from the wall, my legs flailing behind me, feet thudding like elephants, my face red and puffy and hair standing on end.

Apologies, ladies and gentlemen, for my glamourous attempt at handstand. And believe it or not, it used to be even uglier. And all that beautiful-ugly has given me a lot to think about, as I begin class too tired to chaturanga, too winded to get my ujayi on.

Because, if handstand is one thing to me, it is HARD.

And if it’s more than one thing, it’s beautiful and shimmery and nearly unattainable and unnatural and graceful and defiant and strong and oh my GOD I want it so badly!

So. For the last several months, I’ve been coming early to class to take advantage of the wall. I’ve broken picture frames at home and slammed onto my back and shaken the entire downstairs with my donkey kicks. I started out afraid of hitting the wall, and just barely able to scissor my legs up to hip level. I tried donkey kicks and felt so ridiculous that I learned humility real quick. I’d lean forward onto my hands, bounce my right leg just above my hips, lift my left foot for a fraction of a second, and come back to earth. Again and again and again.

It took me almost five months before I could even kick up onto the wall. But when I did, when I felt myself suspended over my hands, flipping the world upside down, and –finally!–tapping my toes against the wall, I felt like I was flying. I literally gasped as I cocked one leg at a right angle, rocking myself back and forth against the wall. I felt light, yet solid, and strong.

… for about eight seconds. Then I piked back down and gasped for air, exhausted.

Repeat about a thousand times over the course of the next two months. When I first started kicking up, I only got into handstand once in about 10 kicks. Then it went to once every 8 kicks. Now, I can kick up pretty easily, about once every 3 kicks.

Handstand is a pretty arbitrary goal that I’ve set for myself, I realize. I even realize the irony of goal-setting in yoga. And yet, I love the way the world looks from upside down, from my toes on the wall, my elbows straight below me. I love the ache in my arms that creeps in even before class starts. I love the quiet smack of my feet on the floor behind me, the dull thud of them on the wall above me, the thud that gets quieter and quieter the longer I practice. Handstand reminds me that yoga is never over, it’s never done, there is always something more. I’ve never worked so long on getting my body to do something. But I’ve spent almost a year working on this, and this is just the beginning. Once I kick up every time, I’ll work on floating up. Then I’ll work on coming off the wall. Then looking between my hands. There is no end, and we’re all going in the same direction. Or maybe we’re not. I really don’t know. But I’m pretty sure it’s not about beginning or advanced or whether you practice twice a month or twice a day. I think it’s about where you are, right now, and where you’re going, someday. And the way you choose to get there, whether it’s sweating quietly or grunting loudly or giggling your way through your vinyasas in class, at the beach, in your living room. And it’s about loving the view.

For me, I love the view from upside down. Even if I have to kick a thousand times to get it.

Photo: Kyoto Katsura, the women’s division champion at the New York Regional Yoga Championship

Some of you probably know that Rajashree and Bikram Choudhury, the husband-and-wife team behind Bikram yoga, are pushing for yoga to be recognized as an Olympic sport. For those of you that don’t know the story, the idea can be a little baffling at first.

“Wait, what?” You ask, “Yoga in the Olympics? Isn’t that against everything yoga stands for?”

Good question. Yoga is a practice that focuses on inner growth, and accepting yourself. Even the yoga vernacular reflects this: we “practice” yoga, we don’t “play” yoga or “do” yoga. Some say that directly conflicts with making yoga a competitive sport.

Others argue that yoga is a set of skills just like anything else, and that those skills can be measured and scored, including things like focus and breathing. Yoga competitions do exist in India, and some people see the Olympics as a natural place for talented athletes, er, yogis, to showcase their skills.

What do you think? Should yoga belong in the Olympics? Should it be a competitive sport?

Photo courtesy of nytimes.com

“This is your life. Do what you love, and do it often. If you don’t like something, change it. If you don’t like your job, quit. If you don’t have enough time, stop watching TV. If you are looking for the love of your life, stop. They will be waiting for you when you start doing things you love. Stop over analyzing, life is simple. All emotions are beautiful. When you eat, appreciate every last bite. Open your mind, arms and heart, to new things and people, we are united in our differences. Ask the next person you see what their passion is, and share your inspiring dream with them. Travel often. Getting lost will help you find yourself. Some opportunities only come once, seize them. Life is about the people you meet, and the things you create with them, so go out and start creating. Life is short. Live your dream and share your passion.”

–The Holstee Manifesto, 2009.
Order the poster here

WIN: A copy of Writing Yoga: A Guide to Keeping a Practice Journal by Bruce Black (courtesy of Rodmell Press).

TO ENTER: Complete the following mad lib:

What to do: Write down a word for each below.

adjective
adjective
yoga pose you struggle with
verb
noun (body part)
yoga pose you love
friend’s name
adjective
verb
noun
adverb
adjective
past tense verb
noun
Then, fill in the appropriate blanks. And post the final the comments below!

Yoga is __1__ and makes me feel __2__. When I practice __3__ I really need to __4__ my ___5__ afterward. But doing __6__ with __7__ I feel __8__ and want to __9__ a __10__ __11__ right away. It’s the most __12__ feeling since I __13__ __14__.

(*inspired by curvyyoga.com)

Then go post your comment on YogaDork.

Giveaway closes end of Sunday, April 10th. Winners (yes, winnerS!) will be chosen at random and announced Monday the 11th. Have fun! Good luck!!

Read more about Bruce, his writing and his yoga http://journalpractice.wordpress.com

Those of us lucky enough to be in one of Will’s classes last week have probably had this phrase knocking around our heads for a few days. The timing was uncanny for me, actually.

One of the reasons I love Yoga Belly is because it’s heavy on the workout, light on the philosophy. But I do appreciate a thoughtful intention, a well-turned phrase, someone else’s thoughts in my head to keep my own from chattering too loudly in my down dog. I like distinguishing between “accepting” the inevitable and “embracing” the inevitable too, even if it’s so counterintuitive sometimes.

Will used the term in a professional sense, as though opening Yoga Belly and doing what he loves was inevitable. This probably applies to all of us, in all of our various stages of career paths or barely-blazed professional trails, but I find myself applying that term much more broadly: to the weather. My family. Health. To Tax Day right around the corner.

“Embracing” is such a more active verb than “accepting.” I think that’s what feels right to me.

How are you embracing the inevitable right now?

And, because yoga’s all about balance… we’ll balance those heavy thoughts with something light. Lady Gaga!