Yoga and the Child Within

After the half marathon, I was feeling a little let down. I had trained for months, and in one morning, I  checked a culminating box on my to-do list. The presents had been opened, the cake had been eaten, and the candles had been blown out (I need to blog RJ's birthday and then some).

I felt a little out of sorts.

I wasn't sure if I needed a nap, the potty, or a cracker. 

My world had been flipped upside down after being right side up for nearly a year. 

I felt off balance. 

Just generally out of whack, helper-skelter, and kind of wacky. 

I swam a few laps, lifted a few weights, researched full marathons (am I crazy?!), and ultimately decided to try something completely new. 

Yoga. That thing stretchy, balanced people do. And with legs carrying knots like grapefruits and a general feeling of weightiness on my left side and weightlessness on my right side, I decided I should be a stretchy, balanced person. 

I don't do well in fitness classes. When I was two, I peed in my tap shoes. I'd like to say I got better after that, but really, the only thing that improved was my potty training. If the teacher says "left," I go right. 

But this is yoga; it's slow and easy, right?

My first class, I uncurled my fresh-out-of the-wrapper mat beside a friendly looking woman who didn't cringe when I told her it was my first time. The instructor was about 50, and much to my delight, she wore a leather headband and tie-dye. She turned on music that chimed, and I found myself upside down in Downward Dog at 6:30 on a Tuesday evening. My arms shook, and I felt slightly dizzy and more than slightly out of place. But I persevered. I stood on one foot. Then the other. My abs screamed. I inhaled on the exhale, exhaled on the inhale, and found myself holding my breath, desperate for oxygen while the rest of the class rested in something called the "prayer" pose. My only prayer was for strength to finish the class without passing out. 

Then, something kind of magical happened: I started to understand. I followed instructions and figured out a pose or two. 

I can do this. I can be stretchy and balanced! 

Then, my friendly tie-dyed yogi (who, it turns out, is not a picnic loving bear) asked me to feel the energy of the room. I felt it. It pulsed in my aching ankles. She asked me to be aware of the energy. I was aware. She asked me to notice it pulsing "about three-inches in front of the mirrors."

I lost what energy flow I had in the stream of giggles that escaped on the exhale. I wasn't balanced anymore. It all seemed a little silly. And, as a silly girl should, I found my way back to the child's pose (because I behaved like one--just a little bit): 

But I felt relaxed. I felt stretchy. I felt kind of balanced. 

So, I went back for another class. I stretched into a headstand. I was sore in all the right places. I started to notice the energy in the room. Even better? I started to become aware of the energy outside of the yoga studio (so, it's a YMCA gym--why quibble over small details?). 

I've always said that if I could find a way to bottle my kids' energy, I'd be a happy, rich woman. 

I want to discover this kind of energy within. The pure delight that only comes from the first summer spray of the water hose. 

I want to place my hands carefully at shoulder level and feel the giggles bubbling from deep within my soul. 

I can see the energy rushing from his laugh out into the cosmos for all within earshot to enjoy. 

I'm quite certain that this is the look of the energy that has been balled up just behind my knees until its spectacular release that left me balanced and stretchy. 

Somewhere, in the midst of something new,  I'm finding myself floating, nearly flying.  I'm aware of the air on my skin, the breath in my lungs, and the energy inside and outside my body. 

And slowly, I'm stretching my mind. I'm balancing my right foot and my left brain. Tonight, we worked on our back muscles, and for the first time in years, the stabbing pain in my right hip and thigh has completely vanished. Even if the relief is temporary, it's relief nonetheless. I'm learning to control my thoughts with my breath and my breath with my thoughts. I'm becoming aware of the child that does still reside in my soul--the little girl who delights in spinning her sundress skirt; the excitement of a freshly-baked cookie; the little twinge of happiness that fizzles down the fuse toward the quickly approaching explosion of summertime. The energy flowed about three inches in front of me tonight, and tonight, this silly girl is happy and rich (for now--I've given myself until July to commit to a new goal because you can put a Type A in tie-dye, but you can't bask in the golden energy forever.).