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.