A Different Value System

It's my yogic birthday, or at least it was last week, meaning that it's been three years since my first class with David Vendetti at Back Bay Yoga in Boston.  Lots of things have changed since then-I no longer crave hot yoga to prove that I've worked hard in yoga, my hamstrings and hips are more open, and my back craves yoga all of the time.  In the last three years, I've bruised my coccyx, thrown out my low back carrying a lounge chair, had a bike accident and subsequently messed up my right knee, and developed left hand tendonitis.  My yoga practice has shifted dramatically since that first class.

I remember being a yoga junkie, but more because I liked the pain, the hard work, the sweat- of a forrest class.  I knew even then, that vinyasa was a subtle art, of flexibility and strength, but I preferred what I knew best-strength.  Since then, I've lost and slowly regained the strength in my upper body, as well as learning to appreciate the slowness of a non-forrest class.  I remember, in that first year, wanting to feel the burn, the quest for strength and sweat.  Then, I moved to Rochester, in which the culture was an extreme opposite-of middle aged women and men trying to relieve pain and injuries.  I took Iyengar style class for part of my first year (boy was that slow and thoughtful-complete opposite of forrest) and then I took Anusura class until I developed tendonitis.  For me, anusura was a lovely fusion of vinyasa and conscientious anatomy-we still worked hard ( although we could've worked a teensy bit more sometimes!) and I learned to love the length, the elongation, the focus on how it feels, rather than how many fancy poses I could do.  I felt comfortable, welcome, and totally within my skills as a slightly injured person.  My teachers knew about my occasional aches and pains, and were committed to helping me find strength and success.  And then, I moved again.

I now am navigating the tricky path of not living particularly close to the studio I like, while also not having enough time to go often.  It definitely makes me pine for the boredom and temporal spaciousness of Eastman.  Partly out of curiosity, and partly because I missed the right bus to SoBoYo, I went to a class at Back Bay Yoga's newer studio space, which I believe is in the old lululemon space on Boylston. It's a beautiful studio, with lovely murals and detailing and all of that, but a definite contrast to South Boston's vibe and decor.  My class was ok-it was very wrist intensive, and I was reminded at how differently I practice now.  I understand the appeal of the heated room and all, but I practice so much slower now.  With my injuries, I practice more mindfully, at least for me.  I am careful in all of my backbends, careful not to hyperextend my joints in downdog, careful to pad my knees in deep lunges.  I watched as women in beautiful new lululemon tanks and shpants/shorts slingshotted through their backbends and sun salutations, gracefully, but not necessarily focused on anatomy. I, on the other hand, wore my old clothing with pride, and took my time in everything.  When instructed to do pushups, I declined and did dolphin pushups.  When everyone else did handstand jumps, I hung out in dolphin pose.  The teacher was very understanding-I think she trusted my judgment enough.  But I got a funny vibe from some of the people in the class, as though my slowness was a lack of fitness or energy.  Hardly-I had just come from acupuncture.

I treat yoga so differently now-as an opportunity to lengthen, to take a step back from music, and to consciously focus on the way that I'm using my body.  To breathe, to stretch, to extend, to rest.  I can go running if I need adrenaline-yoga is the place for space, not the place to do tons of sun salutations.  I don't have the nicest or newest yoga clothes, and I don't really care about it.  I can't do arm balances or hand stand, and I don't care.  Because yoga is something so different for me than what it is to others, and it's my time for me.  My limitations are frustrating, but a simple fact of life, and something to work with, rather than work against.  It's my me time, and no one can take that away from.  (Although I wouldn't mind a nice pair of running leggings from Lululemon, now that I think about it...)