The Old (Decrepit) Yogini and a Class Full of Newbies
Yet another ahimsa lesson for me…
Today I went to my regular yoga class. This class usually consists of a core cadre of about 7–10 regulars or pseudo-regulars, all a little bit older than me but generally in good shape for all that. Today, the class was invaded by several newbies, who had either never done yoga or had not worked out at all for quite a long time (we’re talking years). That doesn’t usually bother me. I’m used to being the living model on which our beloved teacher points out how to do a particular pose. She says, “If you don’t know how to do a pose, watch Betta!” and I inevitably blush and sometimes crack a silly joke. It’s an old routine. I’ve been coming to this class under the same teacher for over 10 years. But today was a little different.
The Standard Model is Sub-Standard
Today, I was in a great deal of pain. A MASSIVE LOT of pain. I realized it was fairly bad when I was driving in to town, but once I got started in the class, it started to get worse. My knees tried to disintegrate when I bent them slightly, my lower back felt like it was being thumbscrewed (when it wasn’t the target for a tiny spearman), my neck was stuck in Mostly Forward Facing mode, and my shoulders were very sore (the only pain I can explain as direct cause-and-effect, as I swam laps yesterday). So basically, my Tree Pose wobbled, my Locust Pose was more like a Mona Lisa smile, and my forward fold only went to about 110 degrees, rather than the full 180 it usually does. My form was good enough, but you could barely tell I was doing yoga by looking at me. I also had to come out of the poses before just about anyone else. So luckily my teacher, who seems attuned enough to my operating level, refrained from saying “Watch Betta” more than once. It could’ve been the “Don’t Watch Betta” look I gave her.
I am learning the same newbie lesson again…and again….
One of the “newbies” who came to class today was a lady who I remembered from yoga classes long, long ago, maybe 4–5 years. She hadn’t worked out in all that time, and she was making her first foray back to the gym. I told her that yoga class was probably the best bet for getting back into the swing of things, because you can modify all the poses to fit your ability level. I realized that this was the lesson of the day for me and for the newbies who might have been intimidated by the idea of super-pretzel women of super-human strength. (Hint: I’m nowhere close to super-strong). Even pretzel women like me have to back off and admit we’re human and limited in what we can do. That’s what I love about yoga. I may not have been the Yoga Journal Model for all the many and varied pretzel poses I could do last year at this time, but I was still able to drag my mat in and do the whole class, because I listened to my body and didn’t push myself to meet some arbitrary standard. I am still learning the finer points of the first rule of Yoga: ahimsa or nonviolence. I had not thought out the level of violence I might be visiting on my body by mindlessly allowing my hypermobile joints to twist to their heart’s content until my body started letting me know in no uncertain terms to stop it right now or it wouldn’t lift my feet for me or even let me roll out of bed. Thanks to yoga, I have a better chance of making it out of bed successfully in the morning.
