A few weeks ago I was thinking how much I would like to have a yoga class again. Yoga suits me. It is slow, I can stretch, it forces me to focus, it’s individual. It’s not readily available in small town amenity-lacking-ville.
Suddenly, it was there. A facebook post of a class beginning showed up. Yay!
Last night was the first night. I pulled out my mat, the one that had sat in the closet for four years, waiting. I confidently walked into the class in my shorts and snug tshirt. I assumed I would know how to do everything.
Wrong, wrong, wrongity wrong. The teacher was new, this was her first class teaching. I don’t fault her for that, but new teacher and rusty perfectionist student. There were some rough moments in that hour.
I bent to downward facing dog and realized my shirt fell open and I could see my bra.
I stared at my knees and saw old woman wrinkly knees.
We went through a new-to-me sequence. I couldn’t keep up, I had no muscle memory for the rhythm of the positions flowing one into the next. At one point I gave up and lay in child’s pose. I could accomplish laying on the mat like a pouty preschooler, so I did.
I followed directions incorrectly, because I was listening and not awkwardly turning to watch (I was on the end with no reference at some points). I did things wrong in public. People could witness my imperfection, oh the horror!
There were mirrors. Views of myself I don’t get on a typical day. I could handle the ass up views, but the views me seated – boobs stacked on waist stacked on hips – I gritted my teeth and hated myself for a minute. I closed my eyes against the image of red faced, tit riddled, struggling Dawn. Comforting myself with “oh at least I can blog this”.
The last minutes were spent in relaxation – not before I totally jacked up yet another pose of course – relaxation I desperately needed.
I lay there and found it in myself to be proud of me. I had been awful at something, publicly and lived to tell the tale. I was sweat covered from MY efforts. I had been bad today, but I knew I would be better the next class. I would troubleshoot clothing options and try again.
By the time I got home, I was able to tell my love it was an okay class, I felt okay about it anyway. By the time I woke this morning, muscles in my arms and core are sore – telling me that even though I wasn’t perfect – I accomplished something in that class – I set a foot on a path to where I want to be – stronger, fitter, better.
Just keep going. That is all you need to do and before you know it you’ll remember to wear a shirt that hugs your girls while you pose and you’ll be back up to speed! Way to kick ass, friend.
This is why I only do yoga DVDs at home. That, plus I’ve had way too many experiences with other people farting during yoga class.
There ya go. Rock on.
Nothing like being awful at something and living to tell the tale. That’s why I run/walk in 30 second intervals, face so red that people ask if I’m okay and hour after I’ve finished. Rock on!