“Do you feel safe?” he asked softly, as he placed his hands on the small of my back. I nodded, face flushed and unable to speak as I fought to stay as still as possible. “Good. Then why don’t we try this…” His hands moved swiftly; one to my hip, the other started pushing my right knee towards my head. My arms were trembling and the vein on my head was starting to throb…
It wasn’t even 7AM and Michael, the yoga instructor, was trying to get my body to bend in ways it was not supposed to.
Yoga was not the extended period of over glorified stretching that I had always labeled it as- indeed, my profusely sweaty body and aching limbs said otherwise. Nor was it the meditative and serenity inducing activity that my kale-loving-brunch-eating coworker said it would be.
My mentality going into the class was that it only seemed natural to ease back in to working out with what I perceived to be a less rigorous, physically demanding activity. I had never taken a yoga class despite A. growing up in California where everyone did it and B. being a member of a sorority (where I have a lot of peers that practice) and finally C. owning 3 yoga mats (which means I’ve attempted to do many a Jillian Michaels 30 minute yoga thing on Youtube only to find that I have neither the attention span nor the patience and end up watching an absurd number of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon clips).
But I was determined- in fact, fiercely desired- to “get into” yoga. And for the first 5 minutes, the class was great. I was an excellent breather. But then we started engaging actual muscles and it was all too apparent that I had the flexibility of an oak tree and a non-existent core. Especially when Michael stopped me from trying out a headstand and instead suggested that I “re-align the elements of my temple” aka stand up straight.
And as I kept my feet firmly grounded, back straight, and arms reaching out to the heavens, I chanted in my head: “I hate yoga. I hate feet. I hate yoga. I hate feet.”
Michael kept on asking me if I “felt safe” after he adjusted basically everything I was doing, from the placement of my wrists and the angle of my neck. At one point, I grunted out a “sorta” and he giggled before spreading out my each of my toes.
Suffice it to say the hour did not fly by. I did my fair share of child’s pose (a really condescending name for that position, if you ask me.) To end the class, Michael asked us to let out three hums, which I enjoyed immensely because I felt like I was singing code:
HUMMMMMMMMMMMM my body feels wack.
HUMMMMMMMMMMMMMM I want Chipotle for lunch.
HUMMMMMMMMMMmmmmm never doing yoga again.
***
This summer, I tried out a variety of different types of physical activity and am excited to share my experiences in each. Next up: Lifting.