Om my gosh: how yoga might just save me…

I didn’t intend to start the day with a yoga class.  It wasn’t even on my radar.  My plan was to spend enough time on the elliptical machine to break out a sweat and burn enough calories to offset my quota of PopTarts I’d eaten for breakfast.  But walking down the hallway, I ran in to a mother from the kids’ school who roped me in to going to a yoga class with her.  And this yoga class?  It might just be my salvation.  The answer to everything that I’m struggling with right now.  The alternative to Zoloft.

Discounting the yoga that I’d done with P90X (I mean, I love Tony Horton as much as the next guy, but he’s not necessarily B.K.S. Iyengar), the last time I’d taken an organized yoga class was the low-energy prenatal yoga classes I’d taken when pregnant with Miss P.  Before that, it was the slightly-crazy class I attended with a friend in NYC that was so filled with yoga fanatics that I felt insecure and inadequate that I couldn’t even look the teacher in the eye.  And even WAY before that, the last time I’d done yoga regularly was over a decade ago.

So, yeah, it’d been a while.

I was nervous, intimidated, and wrought with all those First Encounter Jitters:  Where do I put my shoes? How should I lay out my mat?  Do I need all that gear?  Am I supposed to be stretching before we begin, or can I just sit here and chat with my friend?  And, God forbid, what if I queef?

We started out with some stretching and I quickly realized I wasn’t dressed for yoga.  I had on a baggy camisole and baggy sweats, and when the room began to get toasty, I was a floppy mess.  Still, the stretching…my God, THE STRETCHING.  My body was eternally grateful for all of those twists and bends, simultaneously cursing me for not stretching more regularly.

Then we started to move through asanas, did some balance poses, some abdominal strengthening, and before I knew it, the yoga class was over.  And, man, did I feel great.  For the first time since we’ve moved here, I felt connected back to my body.  The teacher (also a mom, who had told us she was up most of the night with a croupy kid) kept instilling this mantra (for us? or for her?):  This is for YOU, this is YOUR time.  All that other crap that’s coming in to your head? Drop it.

And I did.

All that breathing, stretching, strengthening, moving, it felt glorious.  Like the missing link.  In that yoga class, I realized how much I miss dancing.  Moving my body in a three-dimensional way.  Feeling grounded.  Feeling home.

And that euphoria?  It lasted for the rest of the day.  What a bonus, right?  I found myself getting less wigged out over every little thing my kids did that might otherwise annoy me.  I didn’t have my usual late-afternoon headache.  And I actually felt good about myself.  How did I forget about yoga?  I knew it was out there, that there were classes at the gym.  Why didn’t I do this sooner?  I’ll tell you why…my stupid mind fed me all sorts of excuses, filled me with fear of the unknown, of what might happen, or of how ridiculous I might look.  I’m so grateful for the mom that talked me in to going with her.  Sometimes all we need is a little push in the right direction.

This yoga class might just be the answer to the loss I feel about not having a dance career anymore.  I knew, deep down inside, that I’d been mourning that aspect of my life, but I don’t think I’ve come to terms with and accepted it just yet.  Yoga might be the gentle hand that leads me over to the other side of my career transition.

As they say at the end of a yoga class, namaste.  Namaste indeed.