The Last Class

You know how there are those days when you just know it's going to be a rough day? One of those days where you wake up with that uneasy feeling in your gut? Where something deep inside you is almost begging you to lock the door and pull the shades down? Today was one of those days.

It started around 2:30AM. That's when I woke up and could not get back to sleep. This happens more and more these days, and I'm mystified as to why. I mean, after 70+ days of yoga, I should hit the pillow and sleep the night away. Anyway, I lay in bed until just after 4:00, then gave up and got up.

"Well, I could go to the 5:30 class."

I nixed that idea right away. I was hungry so I made breakfast then puttered around the house. I could eat, hydrate, and be ready for the 9:30. So, that's what I did. However, as departure time approached, I found myself more and more leery. Something kept telling me to stay home. I fell back on the mantra, "The only bad class is the class you don't attend." I tried to silence the voice in my head and drove to the studio. I sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes before entering the studio. I eschewed my normal spot on the right side of the room and instead set up on the far left. Back row. Right by the door in case I decided to bail. The instructor hit the gong, turned on the lights, and welcomed us to class. That's when it started to go wrong, because he had a theme -- something for us to think about during class:

"For this class, I want you to think about how it would feel if you knew that this class would be your last class. Ever. Eventually we all make that transition from this life. If you knew that this was your last time here, how would you feel? What would your practice look like?"

Immediately, a lady in front of me pointed to her water bottle and declared, "If this was my last class, that thing would be full of vodka." This brought a ripple of laughter, then class began.

Between breathing sets, the instructor implored us to really feel ourselves breathe: "Really feel the inhale and exhale. If these were your last breaths, what would you think about them?"

After the first set of Half-Moon, he kind of challenged us: "Everybody is just raising their arms like this (he mimics the majority of the room by raising his arms over his head in a somewhat indifferent manner).If I knew this was it, I would be like this (extends his arms fully, making near perfect upward arcs, reaching them up as though he was trying to grab the ceiling fan)." 

At the water break, he spoke again: "How does the water taste? Feel the coolness, feel it going down."

I'm not sure how anyone felt about all of this. I do know that it pretty much wrecked me.

As the question rattled around in my head, I withdrew more and more from the class. Tears would well up, then disappear, then well up again.So many things started bouncing around in my brain. To wit:

Damn. My postures are never going to improve.

I wasted a lot of time in my life.

I never even tried to find out exactly what my "best" was.

I always "settled". I never took a promotion. Never tried to find my passion. Thirty years in the same grocery store doing the same thing is as safe as safe can be. And it is death.

I rarely fought for anyone or anything, and almost never for myself.

I never will see a mountain or walk on a beach.

I never took risks. Comfort meant safety, and safety meant building walls and spinning cocoons. I let so many opportunities slip by because of fear or because someone said I shouldn't or couldn't (usually it was me -- that would mean leaving the comfort and safety of the known for the unknown).

I spent way too much time on everyone else and not enough on me. And, when people accused me of thinking too much about myself, I gave in more often than not. I let others set my path -- or I walked someone else's path instead of my own. So, now that I am taking a few timid steps forward toward figuring this out, NOW IT'S FUCKING ENDING??!!??

I will never get my hands under my heels.

I guess there was no need for that bucket list, since I accomplished exactly NONE of them.

 I don't want to die. I don't even want to contemplate it. I fear death.

On and on it went. All the while, I'm trying to kick out in Head to Knee, I'm trying to hold Standing Bow, I'm giving up and sitting out Triangle because I already know the outcome. I could barely keep my balance in Tree, and I didn't dare even attempt Toestand. The floor series was really no better. I did three or four postures, but mostly I was just "killing time", so to speak. I did not spend my two minutes in Savasana. I got up and out of there just as fast as I could. I drove home with the radio off, telling myself I should have stayed home.

I feel fairly confident that I will wake up tomorrow and take at least one class. I feel confident it will be better than the class I had today.

But what if?

It really would suck if it all ended this way. 

If I don't figure this out, it will end this way.

The clock is relentless, and I haven't a clue where to start.

Namaste.

 

 

Overwhelmed

After that fantastic class I wrote about in my last post (almost exactly a month ago), I thought my practice was on its way to a new level. I was feeling good. Strong. Dare I say, centered.

I thought wrong. Every class since has been a struggle. I seem to be regressing at an alarming rate. Postures that I loved are now difficult. The postures that I loathe are now impossible, or ignored altogether. Two weeks ago today, I went to the 9:30AM class. I thought I could work through it. Nope. I broke down to the point that while the class was going into Savasana, I rolled up my mat, showered, and hastily left the studio. As I walked to the bus, I wept.

I'm cranky. I'm short tempered. Last week marked 29 years at my job, and it's driving me nuts. Never meant to be there that long, and I feel like my life has been a waste. Add in issues with money, transport, and relationship, and long story short, I'm not in a good place. The clouds, ice, and snow of the past week have played havoc with work (long bus rides and never getting caught up) to yoga (only one class in a week --most classes cancelled), to food and sleep (the wrong kinds and too much of the former, never enough of the latter).

My cynical side is alive, well, and rampant. I read lots of tweets and articles from successful, inspirational people who simply want to share their successes, or tips for success/wellness/health. one of which posted the following saying:

"Those who say it can't be done need to move out of the way of those who are doing it."

I lost my cool and replied, "Consider me moved out of your way."

I shouldn't have done that, but I was pissed. Still am, really.

I mean, I bust my ass everyday just to do one thing I enjoy (yoga). Add in the normal, humdrum things one must do (shopping, cooking, laundry, sleep, etc) and there simply is no time for me to do anything else. The very cross, cynical me wants to know just how in the hell am I supposed to be so damn perfect? Where do I even START??  I'm 47. Going back to school seems pointless. I've NEVER known what to do with my life; probably never will. My practice is for shit. I cannot even reach my heels anymore in Hands-to-Feet. In the final part of Wind-Removing (the bit where you draw both legs into your chest while attempting to get your entire spine on the floor), I cannot breathe AT ALL. My gut squeezes my lungs to the point where I cannot draw in any air. I have returned to my old custom of wearing a shirt during class because I am ashamed of my food choices and my body. Everything hurts. I gasp for air. I combine a remarkable lack of balance with incredible weakness and ZERO confidence. 

I read lots of stuff about changing my eating habits. Moving to a more plant based diet. Improving my health. Improving my mental outlook. Trying to start a meditation practice. Finding what I really want to do with my life. Taking charge. I'm good at trying to help others be better people. I am very bad at taking care of myself. Can't be done. If it were possible, would I not have done it already? I see and read about people who are living the lives they dreamed of and I am equally happy (for them) and despondent/jealous.

I signed up for a posture clinic next week. Now I must cancel that. More issues/drama.

I'm overwhelmed, overfed, and undernourished.

"Those who say it can't be done need to move out of the way of those who are doing it."

I'll just move over here, shall I?

It.
Can't.
Be.
Done.


Peace.

Cored

Recently, my Bikram studio started offering what is called a "Core Class". One of our fantastic instructors is a physiotherapist with 19 years experience. He has put together an hour long routine of sit-ups, lunges, crunches, and yoga poses to help build up the core muscles of your body. The routine differs almost every class to insure proper development of all the core muscles. 

At first I was all-in for this. I mean, what an opportunity, right? This can do nothing but help me, right? 

Right?

I hate it. 

I knew I was weak and unfit, but good God!! While everyone else (and I do mean EVERYONE ELSE) is knocking out set after set, I have collapsed on the floor gasping for air and wishing that my stomach would stop hurting. I am undoubtedly the least able person in there. I get flustered because I'm not the most coordinated and I fall behind the rest of the class. I get embarrassed. I want to leave. I want to run away.

I want to quit. 

Never mind that I felt a lot of improvement from the first class to the second. About halfway through each class I want to leave. And maybe get a cheeseburger. 

It has taught me one thing. 

I have no core. Physical or mental. 

I have no reserve to draw on when life throws more stress at me. I have no source of strength to call upon when the instructor is tacitly trying to coax me off the mat to please attempt at least one set of Triangle. I haven't the strength to tell myself that I really don't need a third cheese danish. Or a fourth. Or a fifth. (This actually happened one morning last week. I actually stuffed eight danishes down my throat. I'm not proud.) I personify weakness. 

Now that I know the full extent of my weakness, I also realize what it will take to repair the damage. It will be a daunting task to say the least. I really don't know if I have the stomach for it (pun intended). It means changing more things than I realized. Carving out more time for classes. Making better food choices (while on a tight budget). Loving myself more. Maybe even learning to get up and eat breakfat so I can avoid the eight-danish fiascos. First and foremost, it simply means developing a backbone. A true and healthy spine. Part of having a strong spine entails... you guessed it... a strong core. 

Of course, I would be doing this on the eve of the two biggest food holidays on the calendar: Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

I'm doomed.