“We’re going to yoga.”
Thirty minutes before the class, I did not have a Texercise pass. Twenty minutes before class, I was wearing jeans and figuring out the procedure for attending events at Gregory Gym. Two minutes after class began, I was walking in another wing of the building, certain that the meeting room was just around the corner past the rock climbing walls.
But I was going to yoga.
I’ve never been one for physical exercise, always telling my friends and family that I preferred to stretch my mental muscles. Sure, exercise was important, but it just didn’t fit into my schedule; how could I waste time changing into athletic clothes, walking over to the gym, taking a class or even a run, and then changing back into my usual garb when I finished my workout? There had to be a better use of my time.
Three weeks ago, I met with my English professor over coffee. As our discussion danced through stories of the summer, of trips abroad and serendipitous encounters, the topic dipped into that poor rose I never watered: exercise. He told me about the value of finding a form of exercise you enjoy, describing his daily walks and quoting great thinkers that probably have less free time than I. Suddenly, my sentences were adopting those dreaded precursors: “I’d like…” I plan…” “I hope…” “Maybe someday…”
I wish I could say I was thinking about exercise when I walked back to my dorm that day, but too soon my mind wandered to its usual fare: deadlines, meetings, assignments, and mental exercises. My brain was quick to remind me that it was much more important than the rest of the body, thank you very much, and I’d better start focusing on it again or it would threaten mutiny in the form of cat videos.
Last week, exercise reared his head once again, this time through a friend from my writing class. She told me about how she led a yoga class and how that coupled with meditation to ease some of the stress in her busy life. By the time it came up again in a meeting with some other friends, I had decided to let exercise speak his mind.
He bounced into my head this afternoon, just after lunch. This time, I let him sit down, asking that greedy child, my brain, to give him space at the table. I had heard stories about the partnership of the body and the mind, and how mindfulness serves the whole self. Those brothers function best when they work together, no matter how proud they are of their individual prowess.
So when he said, “let’s exercise,” I told my body, my brain, and myself, “Today, we’re going to yoga. Right now. No more excuses, no more distractions. It’s time for us to work together.”
Of course, I decided this thirty minutes before the class in question began. I knew that I had to make the most of this rare moment in which my brain accepted exercise, so I speed-walked to the gym, navigated this building I’d entered four times before, and purchased my Texercise pass. Now my brain couldn’t get out of it; we’d spent too much money to attend a single class, so this was a promise to myself that I’d learn this building by the end of the semester. I checked my watch — twenty minutes — and requested a pass for the class, scampering back across campus to change out of clothes that even I knew wouldn’t work with yoga. After three minutes of talking to myself, asking what bag to take, where my yoga pants were, and why I hadn’t made this decision earlier, I was scampering back to Gregory, bag and pass in hand.
Even after reaching the class four minutes late, I’m glad I listened to that voice. I may have drifted off in that first class, but that hour was the most relaxing event of my week. I had listened to the barrage of sound advice around me, quelled my brain’s protests, and taken a moment to think about my whole body, not only its loudest guest. For thirty minutes of chaos, I can see weeks of health and self-awareness ahead.
And next week, I’m going to yoga.