Disclaimer: This post was written by a very lazy middle age woman. One who hates to work-out. What does she hate more than that? Really hot temperatures and humidity. But what does she hate the most? When those three things slam into each and make her sweat an obscene amount. Please take all that into consideration when you read the following post. Middle age, lazy, and copious amounts of hate…
I started yoga in January. I’ll keep the Why short. How about this? I figured I needed some changes and a former birth client just opened a studio. Her midwife had asked me to go about a dozen times and I kept blowing her off (read above), but the perfect storm of Need for Change, Opportunity, Sanity Saving was brewing. So I went. Surprisingly, I kept going.
Here’s what I’ve learned in the past nine months.
- If a recipe says, “toss in a handful of herbs” I want to scream. I like when it says, “3 T. of finely chopped cilantro.” My first class I took at Blue Spot was a Hot 60. Even given my entire disclaimer (and wow does the heat smack you in the face when you step into the studio), it appealed to my core immediately. It’s a very specific set of 26 postures with a very specific set of instructions.
- I was worried people would notice my lack of proper form. Yoga is a good reminder that You care more about yourself than other people do. No one is looking or judging you. If anything, I see a beautiful Bird of Paradise and think, “One day…” And then I work to get my shoulders straight.
- Yoga isn’t only for the flexible skinny women with asses built for yoga pants. Yoga is for everyone. Everyone.
- Kayne produces tracks meant for flow classes. I’m not sure he’s aware of that fact. Hell, who am I kidding? He’s aware his music is suitable for absolutely everything. As it should be…
- My shoulders look pretty fucking good when they’re sweaty.
- If someone farts, I will giggle. For a while.
- Someone women do sweat pretty. I AM NOT one of them. Except for my shoulders…
- I love to practice near a door. Sometimes the teacher will open it for 3 seconds. And when she does… Oh sweet Lord. I can only imagine it’s what the breeze off a Unicorn Beyonce feels like as she swoops down and says, “Get your ass up here. Let’s ride.”
- I used to look forward to Labor Day when I’d ignore my razor for months. Now it gets regular use. There’s nothing more distracting than watching sweat beads Plinko down my leg hair while in Standing Separate Leg Head to Knee. Regular shaving is one yoga Con. Oh and no more tiny zits on the side of my nose. I miss those. I’m a popper.
- I’m stronger than I ever imagined I could be.
- I’ve gotten quieter than I ever imagined I could be. And it’s a good thing. Family and friends might not 100% agree. Maybe it’s the constant chatter in my head. Who knows, but I stand by this nugget.
- I hate chair pose.
- I hate triangle pose.
- At some point I hate every pose. But then I tell myself, “You showed up. So just fucking try your best.”
- I enjoy feeling new muscles.
- I secretly enjoy the sound of my sweaty top hitting the floor. One because I worked my ass off. Two because the gross ick is off me. Some yoga clothes are a pain in the ass to get out of especially when drenched in sweat. Flopping around while stuck in a yoga top or sports bra is humiliating.
- During an irritating Life moment, I’m usually two deep breaths in before I realize what I’m doing. I’m not reacting. I’m breathing.
- Yoga pants have ruined anything with a waistband.
- For 60-90 minutes, I don’t have to worry about my phone, food prep, homework, schedules, etc.
- “Heart forward” is a good cue on the mat. It’s also one I’m trying to take off the mat. Heart forward, Erika. Heart forward.
Reread the disclaimer. And I promise, I’m not exaggerating my hatred. Ask my Ma.
If I can do it, so can you. You just have to show up and stay in the room.
And just maybe you’ll shock yourself too.
Totally not me. But no one likes a photo-free blog post plus it’s kind of hard to photograph yourself in poses. And I enjoy when she “models” for me.
If you’re local or visiting the Columbus area, come visit Blue Spot.
And if I’m there and you fart, I’m sorry that I laughed…