A Few Deep Breaths

I’ve been back to my yoga practice for three weeks now and just don’t know how I could have been away so long. It’s been keeping me sane through the crazy winter weather we’ve been having in our little corner of the Blue Ridge. (We had two mini-snowstorms last week and we’re now bracing for another two-footer). I’m starting out with a basic program from the Sivananda guide, which covers the essential asanas. I have to say I had forgotten how amazing it feels to spend a few minutes upside down every day…

I’ve had an on-again/off-again relationship with yoga for …whoa...almost 20 years. I started practicing in New Orleans in my early 20s. I had graduated from college and was hanging around the Crescent City living with a musician in a boho flat on lower Magazine, waiting tables at a trendy French restau and trying to figure out what to do with my life. The BF and I were looking for some kind of joint activity and found the treasure that is Alvina’s yoga studio on Oak Street (uptown-one of my very favorite streets in the world). I worked evenings so I bought a monthly pass and went to class almost every day. I remember Alvina as an amazing teacher and an amazing presence. According to her website, she has now set up a studio in San Miguel de Allende Mexico. Of course, I am now fantasizing about going down there for a retreat…

Anyway, I eventually decided to take off for Paris, where I led a very un-yogic existence and, sadly, did not practice at all. After Paris had worn me out, I came back to Virginia for a couple years and found another great teacher, Denise. But I abandoned my practice once again when I got restless and moved to NYC. Five years later when Christian convinced me to move back to VA, one of the first things I did was sign up for classes with Denise. I eventually got a job at the French Embassy in DC. Hated the job and the commute but loved the rockin’ yoga classes with Alex at lunchtime several times a week. I practiced regularly during and between both pregnancies but kinda let things kind of fizzle again after Co was born. By that time, I had quit working, and the economic slowdown hit us big time, and we started cutting out luxuries. My yoga and tennis classes went the way of our Netflix subscription (sniff). I occasionally practiced at home, but eventually succumbed to inertia and stopped altogether.

Then a little bitty glimmer of light appeared: my friend Jess (whom I had met in one of Denise’s classes) and I found out about a free yoga happy hour offered by one of the newer studios in the area. One Friday a month, they offer an hour of yoga followed by wine and cheese. We like to joke that our guru would not approve of the post-yoga alcohol consumption (booze is considered tamasic, meaning that it saps your energy, clouds reasoning and creates dark emotions and is pretty much a no-no) but we have a blast. The teachers are pretty good at this place…and did I mention it’s free?

But it became clear to me that once a month is just not enough. So I’ve been unrolling my sticky mat early in the morning or during quiet time in the afternoon. I’m pretty rusty but getting back into the swing of things. One of the important concepts in yoga is that you’re not supposed to judge other people (which I’m pretty good at). You are also not supposed to judge yourself (which I’m pretty bad at). So I’ll go ahead and say that my wheel pose, in particular, is pretty feeble. I was always a champion back bender. I’ve always used it as an expression of joy and used to do it as a party trick (it’s been a while). But these days it’s a struggle to push myself up and can only hold for a few seconds til my arms give out. Determined to keep practicing til it feels the way it used to (or something like the way it used to). So, look for me to start doing backbends on the playground this spring...