This princess from the Caspian Sea is a wee bit high strung. LIES. Alright, I will confess to being highly high strong. Truths! Sitting in peace, watching my mind’s eye, breathing to reach a deep relaxation takes EFFORT. A lot of it. Mix in issues with flexibility since childhood and one can quickly understand the logic behind searching, finding and grasping for peaceful times, moments and aids.
Unlike some folks on this planet, I have chosen to steer clear from lorazepam or alcohol to chill the nerves and relax my soul. Sure a glass of red is nice, but the effects only last for so long. As for my lack of flexibility, I will confess to regular massotherapy to release tense muscles.
The past two weeks I have been searching for a place where I would feel at ease with my lack of flexibility in public while embracing inner love and acceptance for who I am. Tall order if you ask me. Would this be a good time to mention I am a perfectionist; it goes against my grain to be one with my limitations in yoga, while I see people fold and contort in shapes I didn’t realize were humanly possible. Yes, I am listening to the flow of messages from my instructor to be forgiving, kind, open and ONE with where I am at. I am not.
It’s a process. Like everything else in life. I found a cute studio in NDG, highly touted by many followers. The reception staff is positive, kind and informative. The locker area is clean, with a bare minimum facility. A few studios offering different types of yoga in a heated room, with cork style flooring and mirrors on one side and window panes on the other. Once again a minimalist approach with few visible distractions to allow for one to relax, release and breathe.
Thus far, I have attended two classes. The heated element in yoga is a challenge. You are not quite sure how much or how little to wear. As a neophyte, you walk in as you would for a dance class. You place your mat on the cork floor and sit while watching all walks of life enter the room. Men don’t like to wear shirts. Just bottoms. Wow. A single girl can get used to that. Some ladies wear stringy tops and short SHORT bottoms. I am a visual being. It’s a lot of skin. Nice tattoos. Nice definition on men and women. Nice toe nails. Nice nape. Focus Princess!!! Focus on breathing! Soften your tongue and cheeks while you attempt at contorting in ways you didn’t know were possible. Too many distractions.
Twenty minutes into the class, sweat begins to pour down from the tip of one’s hair follicle all the way down to one’s toe. Breathe. The scent in the room changes. Why don’t some wear deodorant? Why won’t that man wear a shirt to catch some of his drippings? Why won’t she wipe the puddles of sweat near me? Focus on the pose at hand, Princess. One pose extends the arm a wee bit further than one is used to. Oh no, was that a GLOB of someone’s sweat that flung on my mat? This is intimate. I don’t even know your name?
I went a second time. To be fair, of course. This time it was a smaller studio with an intimate group of men and women with a hands-on instructor who clearly takes pride in her craft. I liked her teaching style. I liked that she quickly glanced at the newbies who were not as flexible as the regulars. I liked that she came by and offered alternate poses to make it less challenging and more feasible. She individualized her teaching. I liked that. I appreciated it.
Sadly, the sweat factor was worse. Buckets of sweat on either side of mats by the time the twenty minute mark hit. In some instances, as I tried to breathe and accept the tension I was feeling while creating space, I focused on feet. How many folks in this room have plantar warts? Are they treating it? Does it really matter? Do I want to walk around barefoot? I love walking around barefoot. I love the cool feel of the ground, or sand between my toes. I am not loving this sweaty cork floor.
I will go a third time. To be fair, once again. Perhaps, I will embrace this experience and become one with my PAIN. Breathe. Release. Create space.
Meantime, I have questions. In India, where the practice of yoga began, did the yogis wear sexy LULULEMONs? Did the men and women dress in minimal clothing? Are there mirrors in yoga studios in Mumbai? That being asked, if we are picking and choosing what we take from other cultures, why haven’t we thought of adding a better ventilation system in our Western World and a solution to this sweaty drippy mess. I like saunas. I like steam rooms. I do believe in detoxification. I love an intense workout where am sweating like mad. The proximity of people and the visuals while profusely sweating are not inviting to me. Bikram yoga is definitely out of the question too, for this little lady.
Perhaps, just a regular yoga class will do. Hot stone massage is a whole other story. Bring it on!
Namaste.
