8 years old:
Sitting in my grandmother’s living room on
the beige carpet …
A news blip on the TV in which a woman
celebrates her 100th birthday. She folds like a pretzel, putting her
feet behind her head with a big grin on her face. She’s been practicing yoga
for 60 years and here she is, as vibrant and as flexible as I was with my as
yet un-fused sacrum. Maybe she’s on to something.
13 years old:
My friend’s yoga teacher mother invites our
whole soccer team to a series of 3 classes. We learn about ‘monkey mind’, about
‘corpse pose’ and that if we do inversions before exams we’ll think more
clearly. We giggle and show off our youthful flexibility and levity, floating
into headstands and flinging into handstands. We get tucked in for savasana,
with tiny sandbags over our eyes. It is so comforting.
19 years old:
How am I already not as flexible as I used
to be? In my first class since that fleeting introduction, a yoga teacher
frowns at my downdog and pulls my hips back, trying to force my convex back
into a more acceptable shape. My hamstrings scream.
23 years old:
I’ve been hitchhiking and camping all over
western Canada, sleeping on uneven surfaces and living rough. I’ve also been
sitting in stiff plastic chairs through interminable university classes and
paper-writing sessions with slumpy posture. As a result I’ve been saddled with
chronic back pain. It even hurts to lie flat on my back sometimes. Something’s
pinching. I get an x-ray and a CT scan. I see a physiotherapist to correct the
bulging disc in my lumbar. We set a goal together. I would like to practice
yoga. I don’t know where this comes from but I know it’s what I need. I do the
exercises until my muscles strengthen and my back pain lessens. I sign up for
Iyengar-style classes with the same friend’s yoga teacher mother from the
junior high days. I diligently attend a class a week over the next two winters.
I feel taller, stronger and lighter. I stand in tadasana while waiting for the
bus.
29 years old:
I have a dedicated yoga spot in my
apartment. I feel it when I miss my practice. I work in male-dominated,
physically demanding jobs and apply yogic forms while hauling gear. My 5’3”
130lb body can somehow keep up with their 6’3” 230lb ones. I love the dynamic
strength that yoga allows me to build. I love the feeling of euphoria and clarity
after a transformative practice. I love picking apart the anatomy and mechanics
of a pose. I love delving into the yogic philosophy of the human mind and body;
it keeps me grounded, it sends me higher, it brings peace. 