I am a stretchy person. There, I said it. I am flexible (of body, if not so much in mind in my frail dotage). There are several medical and non-medical reasons for this retained childhood ability and I will refrain from boring you with them here. Suffice it to say, as I already have: I am flexible.
Over the years I have lost count of the number of people who have told me that I simply must give yoga a try. This sentiment usually redoubles when word of my aforementioned stretchiness gets out. I have in my youth of overexposure to the hobby elements been a dancer, martial artist, horse-rider, tennis player, gymnast, swimmer, flautist, singer, sketcher (draw-er feels wrong) and squash player, to name a few (yes, that list is non-exhaustive) but I never could quite get myself into the idea (or the practice) of yoga. I’ve even tried classes before: at my gym; at the gym at work; at my other gym (I’m not even going to include an awful weekend at a French Bikram yoga studio - life truly is hard) but I could never get into it.
Yes, I'm getting to that...
This is where the flexibility becomes relevant (not that I promised it would); because I seemed to master the positions that most people found difficult (i.e. the flexibility poses) the instructors all assumed I was an experienced yogi. No matter how many times I rocked up to a class and stuck my hand as high in the air as possible in response to the question ‘is anyone here a beginner?’ instructors all smiled knowingly to themselves and insisted I get on with my Chaturangas like the non-beginner I clearly was. Since part of my God-given flexibility is apparently down to loose ligaments (ok, so I bored you a little) this has literally no bearing on my relative (in)experience with the art (practice) of yoga.
I was lost in a sea of false-faith and lack of explanation. After a while, I did what any sane person would do and gave up on my dream of becoming a yogi (or dream of looking as good in my lycra as the yogis my age tend to do) and got on with my life. I would think about it now and again, especially due to the alarming frequency with which friends of mine would tell me about the less-than-ideal effects the vegetarian/vegan diets at their latest yoga retreats had on their bowels, but I didn’t particularly feel the need to go back. Not until I found myself with some extended time off, did I think of taking my local (hot) yoga studio up on their 21 days for £30 beginners’ offer. I am very glad I did.
I'm not a Catholic, but you get the point...
Let me get this out of the way first, I do now regularly attend hot yoga… but I’m not good at it. That is, I think, a big part of it’s charm. I am bad. And I sweat the most. And I don’t drive, so I have to walk all the way back home looking (and likely smelling) like I’ve just been to hot yoga. Despite all this, I know that the yoga studio is exactly where I need to be. When I first went, some of the old demons popped up. These people are serious, it’s an actual yoga studio, not a yoga class at a gym, so they use the real names for the poses. I do not even know the fake names for theposes. I do not understand a word. The instructors, for a while, assumed that I did. That did not last long. As I had financially roped myself into attending the classes (£30 is not a bank-breaking amount of money, but it worked out that I had to take three full classes before I had earned my money back), the teachers had a chance to get to know me and, crucially, to see that I wasn’t lying and was a beginner. From there, the progression has not been large, maybe not even perceptible, but it’s there.
I'm in great pain, please help me.
I can feel you asking me at this stage what any of this has to do with anything non-yoga related in my life, well, you’ve been very patient so I’ll tell you. I was getting in my own way. I was expecting the teachers to come to me, to notice I wasn’t confident, or knowledgeable or talented; trying to get them to notice and help me. Do you know what would have worked better? Asking for help. But that would be too logical, wouldn’t it? People aren’t psychic, even when they want to help you which, remember kids, isn’t always, they can’t if you don’t ask for help. Through my experience of realising the shortcomings in my approach to yoga, I have started (and continue) to question my approach to my life in general. I am English and, as such, have adopted the twin concepts of [having a] stiff upper lip and ‘faking it until [I] make it’ into my soul. I am good enough at things to make my faking being better at it a workable option and while this is a useful skill (I’m not saying it isn’t), it doesn’t, in the end, help with self-improvement. By spending so much time making sure I look the part, sound the part and can fake my way through many situations, I have been tying myself in knots (flexibility throwback, you guys!) packaging myself to be less of a pain for other people. This works for them, but it no longer works for me. Now, I wear old clothes, ask stupid questions and live my truth.
I am not good at yoga but maybe, one day, I will be.
