The day after I finished defending my dissertation, my ever-so-helpful children reminded me that I’d claimed I’d start working out again after I finished my doctorate. “What are you going to do, Mommy?” they asked.
While I wanted to respond with, “Crawl in bed and sleep for two years.” I also wanted to remember what it felt like to take care of myself. For 4 years, I’d written and studied and juggled in order to obtain this degree, and eating right, sleeping amply, and fitness of any sort were not high on my list.
So on July 3, 2013, I walked into Sunstone Studio and took my first yoga class. It was hot. I was out of shape. I didn’t speak the language. But the teacher was encouraging. And no one laughed at me. And I felt oddly refreshed after the 60 minute experience of raining sweat. So I went back. And I went back. And I went back again.
I decided to set myself goals for completing “x” number of classes and rewarded myself with a purchase from my favorite fitness clothing store when I reached each benchmark. This helped. As the classes added up, my practice strengthened, and my wardrobe options expanded. Before I knew it, I’d celebrated my 100th class by the end of December in that first year. Since then, my pace has slowed and quickened intermittently. I’ve hit goals of 350 and 500 classes, and tried every sort of class type they offer. Most I like, a few I don’t, and I’ve reached the point that I can now recognize what type of class my body most needs… Pilates? Barre? Hot yoga? Flow? Power flow? Core? HIIT? Pure flow? And even Hot Yoga Lite has a time and place. Like different prescriptions, they challenge me, push me, heal me, cleanse me, and strengthen me.
Tonight, I completed my 1,000th class!
Through this practice I now love, I’ve learned lessons that transcend the studio. Life outside the room is often a complete circus. Inside the room, on my 2 ft by 6 ft rectangle, I am safe. This 60 minute gift to myself serves as a place to block out the chaos, focus on that which I can control, clear my head, and gain perspective. It’s a perk that I burn calories and build strength, and while those reasons are why I started, they’re not the reasons I continue.
In yoga, focus is critical. Balance and fluidity of movement aren’t possible without it. Outside the studio, focus has become equally important for me. Without a goal, target, or something to ground me, I work untethered – staying busy, but not connected to a purpose. Life in the studio, focused on whatever it takes to get me through a balancing posture or a hard interval in HIIT, has taught me the value of focus in work, in my family, and in my life’s goals.
During the 7 years since I started at Sunstone, I’ve had a few dozen different teachers. Nearly all of them have been amazing. After each class they send students a survey to gather feedback on the experience, and in the few times I’ve responded, it was clear the teachers had read and were improving based on the input. On a tiny handful of occasions, I have had a teacher who was less careful with word choice in the class. Whether it was framed as sarcasm or as words that were more glass half-empty in spirit, these instances were such a departure from the language norms of encouragement, positivity, or specific feedback on necessary adjustments that they stood out and served as distractions. They made me realize how much I thrive on the well chosen words of supportive teachers. From this experience, I’ve tried to recognize how powerful words are outside of the studio. Are the things I say building up or tearing down. Are the corrections I give specific and actionable or general and defeating? I don’t always win this game, but the lesson has taught nonetheless.
Consider the intentional use of the word “practicing.” I’ve now learned that yogis don’t DO yoga. They PRACTICE yoga. There is such an important difference in how that is couched and the meaning it brings to the experience. There are no failures on the mat. Falling out of a posture has taught you a lesson about where your boundaries currently exist. And that serves to inform your next attempt. The practice is what matters. Nearly each class follows the same sequence each time it is conducted. The growth here comes from experimentation and stretching within the known boundaries of the sequences. In the predictability, there is freedom to explore. That little lesson continues to teach me in ways I don’t even yet fully comprehend.
Life in 2020 is hard. This, as we know, is an understatement. As we survive quarantine, attend protests, manage family dynamics, navigate uncertainty, and face financial and health challenges, sanity is elusive. During the shelter-at-home stage of the pandemic this spring, I lost access to this sanctuary. Bless my family’s heart is all I can say. Did you know that chandeliering is a verb? (Thank you, Brene’ Brown!) It wasn’t until my tool for completing the stress cycle was gone that I even knew what this phrase meant and how important my practice was to doing it.
On this night that I proudly hoisted my new orange Sunstone water bottle – the gift they present to their 1000 class students- up into the air like a trophy, I challenge you. Much like my girls did in 2013, “ What are you going to do?”
I can’t wait to read your blog post 7 years from now!
The Second Half Blog 