One of the things a consistent yoga practice has helped me with is understanding the difference between responding to versus reacting to a struggle, especially on the physical level. How far I’ve come from those first months of yoga, when I’d approach Natarajasana with my brow furrowed, teeth grinding, and muscles tensed. And heaven forbid I fall out of the pose, when I’d curse under my breath, roll my eyes at myself, and immediately jolt right back into the pose without taking a moment to compose myself, regroup, and take a breath.

Balancing poses are no less easier today than they were 8 years ago, but the manner in which I approach them now certainly gives them a sense of effortlessness. I keep my face soft, my eyes focused but not burning an angry hole through the wall in front of me. I am mindful of every movement that goes into getting into the pose, aware of my foot planted into the ground, the leg muscles wrapping around the bone, the breath that carries me from rootedness to flying. I feel my wobbles before I tumble, so when I fall out of the pose, I do it with an air of grace, as though it’s all part of some yoga choreography. There is no cursing, self-berating. I inhale, exhale, and start the pose from the beginning.

This isn’t to say that I’m not struggling or being challenged. Just because I’m not gnashing my teeth doesn’t mean I’m not battling with a physical or mental conflict. I have simply chosen to respond with mindfulness and self-compassion rather than react with groans or frustrated, heavy sighs. (It’s also one of the reasons why Loud Yoga Guy grates my nerves so much.)

However, this response to struggle did not seem to be appreciated during a recent yoga class with a substitute teacher. Thirty minutes into the class, with the studio temperature just decimals away from three digits and several rounds of sweaty sun salutations under our belt, the teacher wondered aloud why the class wasn’t making any noise. “I’m worried—it’s too quiet in here,” she said. “Is the class not challenging enough? Do I have to make it harder?” She gave a snarky grin and made us squat into another Uttkatasana. As a joking kind of response, several people in the class groaned loudly as if to say “We get it! We’re feeling the burn!”

Why does it have to be that way? Why did the teacher need us to cry uncle for her class to feel validated? We were all bending low in our Warriors, keeping our arms tight to our sides during Chaturanga. We weren’t checking ourselves out in the mirror or letting our elbows droop in Warrior II. We were just focused yogis, ujayiing our way through the class…like you’re supposed to (well, except if your name is Loud Yoga Guy).

And believe me, my brain was crying uncle throughout most of the class. She was leading us through a wickedly intense standing series (the following postures were completed all on one leg before repeating the entire combination on the other leg): Warrior II > Reverse Warrior > Extended Side Angle > Triangle > Revolved Triangle > Half Moon > Revolved Half Moon > Standing Head-to-Knee prep > Shiva Twist > Tree > Eagle > Dancer >  Warrior III. This is a challenging series for anyone, even without hip issues. I found the combination a bit ridiculous; I mean, by Standing Posture #8 the leg has pretty much gone numb and anything from there on is going to be compromised, lack form, and get plain sloppy.

I had to stop several times and shake out my leg so my hip didn’t lock up, even though the instructor kept reminding us not to drop the lifted leg, and if we had to rest to do so in any form of one-legged pose. Well, I broke the “rules” over and over again and stood in Tadasana to regroup. The Old Me, guilt-ridden about not executing a perfect yoga sequence, would have apologized after class: “Oh, I’m soooo sorry I couldn’t stay standing on one leg for all 13 poses (!!!). I have this hip thing, and I tried, honestly, but I’m just so sorry!”

I didn’t apologize this time, though, not because I was being smug or selfish, but because I had nothing to apologize for. I gave the class my all, breathing through the hard spots, and listening to my body when it was telling me that it needed a little break. I didn’t flippantly cross my arms over my chest and roll my eyes when pose #10 approached; I stood calmly in Tadasana, eyes closed, and re-centered.

I’m not sure if that’s what the teacher wanted; maybe she was hoping for more curses under my breath or a frustrated stomp of the foot on my yoga mat. But in yoga, when the going gets tough, sometimes the best way to move two steps forward is to first take one (mindful) step back.

“My fiancé sulked around the house this weekend after I told him I didn’t want to eat the same breakfast as he did,” my friend recounted. “He wanted bacon and eggs; I wanted a smoothie. We had to talk. I told him it’s like 5Rhythms.”

5Rhythms, a movement/dance modality, being used to neutralize a disagreement over opinions of what makes a good breakfast? How so?

Part of a 5Rhythms class is exploring moving with a partner. We’ll each be doing our own thing in, say, the rhythm of Staccato, and the instructor will tell us to find a partner. But the difference between partner work in 5Rhythms and that in other genres is that the two dancers don’t necessarily have to be on the same page. Maybe the person I pair up with is flailing every limb in double time and I’m having a good time subtly tapping my feet and bobbing my head. What happens then? Does one of us freak out? Does the instructor split us up and have us find more appropriate partners?

Of course not. We just dance. We grow to be comfortable in our differences and maybe, just maybe, find inspiration in the other’s movement, even if it’s just a certain way the partner flicks his wrist or rolls his hips. You think, “Hmm, that looks cool, let me try that.” ::tries new hip rolling thing:: “Nah, that doesn’t feel right on me.” The point is, you open your mind to some diversity, learn to live with it, and perhaps even try it out yourself. If it doesn’t feel right, then so be it.

As my instructor Richard always says while explaining the concept of partnering, “Oh, this person is smiling and having a good time, but I feel like shit. And that’s OK.” The point isn’t for the “good time” person to make the “shit” person turn into a smiling Fred Astaire, and it’s not the “shit” person’s place to drag his partner into his personal drama.

Smiling. Shit. Tango. Fox Trot. Bacon. Smoothie. Get it? Dare I say 5Rhythms is simply a moving metaphor for life?

So what my friend was trying to explain to her fiancé was that their weekend tradition of sitting down together for Sunday breakfast could still be accomplished peacefully, even if he wanted the lumberjack special and she the vegan’s liquid delight. It’s like those “Coexist” bumper stickers, except instead of a cross and Star of David theirs would have a Denny’s sign and a bundle of kale.

My friend’s story came at such an appropriate time too, because this past weekend I attended a 5Rhythms class that was heavy on partner work. Now, even though I can explain the concept of 5Rhythms partner work ever-so-eloquently, by no means am I the Princess Diana of working with others. Sometimes I’ll pair up with a tired-looking person, but I’m feeling awesome. I try my best not to be disappointed that they’re not able to match my energy levels, but yeah – it’s hard. It’s a challenge that’s better to hash out on the dance floor first, before something similar happens in real life and you flip out at someone on the subway or curse at a coworker.

At one point I was partnered with a woman whose loose and flowing dance was not at all syncing with my refined, precise movements. I acknowledged her and did my own movement, but then out of the corner of my eye I caught her doing a little foot thing…and I thought, “Hmm, maybe I want to try that foot thing too!” And I did, and I may not have copied it exactly, but what I had done was made a connection.

Later I was partnered with a woman who was just busting with energy, but after nearly 1.5 hours of dancing I was pretty exhausted and wasn’t feeling as bold as her…more balletic. Her moves made me feel guilty for taking it easy, but I had no energy! A few minutes into our dance, she passed me; we were back to back, and with that near-contact I felt a rush of energy, and suddenly I was inspired! Her one simple move was like a hit to the chest with a defibrillator, and I was shocked back into movement. From that moment on, I felt like our movement was complementary, rather than just individual steps executed simultaneously.

Then came the intense partner work. It started off simple: Stand back to back, with actual, physical contact. Feel your weight in your partner’s back. Shift weight. Then we were instructed to move to the floor, keeping in contact with each other.

Source: Andre Andreev, http://www.postnatyam.net

At first we simply danced with our backs, me rolling into a forward bend and my partner falling back for the ride. She exhaled — a long, audible sigh that sounded like she was collapsing onto the couch after a long day at the office. When it was my turn to drape over my partner’s spine, I released the same kind of exhalation. It was very humbling for a complete stranger to be giving me such a release, and it felt both awkward and totally awesome.

We then moved on to a kind of contact improv-esque dance, the instructor telling us to now move freely, but always remaining in contact in some way with the other. He cautioned us that not every move is going to look picture-perfect and that odd moments may come up when we do something that we think might work but ends up feeling weird and stilted. But that’s normal and OK, he said. Just keep moving.

We connected with each other at the hands, the arms, back to back, hand on head, head on neck, side to side. It’s times like these when I’m glad the dance studio has no mirrors, because even though we may be curious about what we look like, what shapes we’re forming, the visual appearance of our improvisational art is most likely not as “pretty” as it feels from the inside. The process felt organic, human, inquisitive, and exploratory; to outsiders, it probably looked like two people acting like bugs, crawling all over the place.

Source: Drue Sokol, http://www.campustimes.org

After class, we all agreed that the partner work had actually energized us. Most people approached the practice with apprehension but then later discovered that keeping contact with another human being gave them the stamina to finish the class. Perhaps the exchange of touch also meant an exchange of prana, chi, qi — life force?

We are all different ages and races. I live in the suburbs; other classmates live in the city. My partner is a chef; I’m an editor. How nice is it that we can all be so different but still move together — maybe not at the same pace or with identical movement — but with a certain kind of harmony, without colliding?

Sounds like an occasion that calls for a toast. With that, let’s raise our glasses of green smoothie (or our plate of bacon and eggs) and enjoy this meal together!

The other day I finally fulfilled my desire to spend a day down the shore. I get anxious and antsy when summer weather kicks in and I have yet to see the ocean; summer is already so fleeting, and I feel like once Memorial Day hits, a countdown clock to doomsday (cold weather, dark nights) starts ticking. I have do everything NOW!

I feel very fortunate to live in such an area where I can grab a few dollar bills, spare quarters, hop in the car, and in just over an hour be surrounded by surf and sand. I was giddy on the car ride down, my anticipation and excitement doubling once I hit the rest stop on the AC Expressway.

Signage that tickles me pink. The beach beckons!

Going over the causeway...the final gate to Ocean City!

The causeway, which links the shore points to Jersey mainland, is like the rainbow to Oz. Once you cross over the bridge, only good things lie ahead.

I made the mistake of taking off my sandals to walk from the boardwalk to the ocean. I was expecting the sand to be hot but not scorching. It was like walking on burning coals, and I nearly collapsed onto a stranger’s blanket just so I could save my feet. I could feel the heat rising from my soles to my knees to my thighs; it was an awful, awful feeling, and I thought I was going to need medical attention.

Save my feet!

Relieeeeeef. I made it to the ocean just in time.

Bad sand!

One of my most brilliant decisions of the trip was to wear running shorts for the day, the kind with the built-in underwear. It was so stinkin’ hot and humid that day, even down the shore, so I felt pretty relaxed and comfy. 🙂

Smiles all around!

I was by myself that day and didn’t have my photographer husband on hand to snap shots of me by the ocean. So I was so happy when I found a woman lying on the beach who volunteered to be my interim photog. It turns out we live only minutes away from each other! She was so friendly and encouraged me to “work it” for the camera!

In fact, I had a really great time connecting with people that day. I struck up conversations with shopkeepers, a guy playing a djembe on the boardwalk, a teenage boy who didn’t want sprinkles on his custard (“That’s so un-American!” I said), a group of seniors who needed help taking pictures with their cell phone, the owner of a hippie clothes/jewelry store who told me fascinating stories about sweat lodges and a customer from Nepal, a girl who was cheering to a group of friends on the beach:

and a group of teenage girls eating ice cream on the boardwalk:

I loved them so much that I asked to take a front-facing shot of them. They were all giggly and honored.

I took LOTS of people shots over the course of the day. The boardwalk and beach is a smorgasbord of photo-worthy individuals.

Girl on beach gets happy text message.

Looks like it could be a cover of a Baby-Sitters Club: Beach Edition book.

"I like long walks on the beach..."

Half and half.

One fancy beach chair!

Even scruffy guys eat custard.

I was a bit obsessed with taking photos of older couples too. They are cute and romantic, and it made my heart swell for my own husband.

This could totally be me and Bryan in the future. "My aching hips!"

It didn’t help that I had PMS, and I was passing all of these “memorial” benches on the boardwalk. They all seemed to be dedicated to older couples and dead spouses. I got really choked up at times!

The boardwalk really is a perfect “resting” place, though. It’s nice to just sit down and observe the sights, sounds, and smells around you.

That's Atlantic City somewhere behind the haze.

Don't get caught walking in the bicycle lane on a busy day. You'll get run over!

Even the TV stations find the boardwalk worthy of broadcasting:

She flubbed up her lines several times. It was fun to watch her keep re-doing the scene.

The insides of the shops along the boardwalk are also entertaining.

All the jewelry you need, and then some.

Christmas 24/7/365.

Need to hang this in the bathroom at work!

Pseudo shout-out to my blog!

Fudge making!

...at least I HOPE that's fudge...

Finished fudge.

Bizarro cheap clothes and junk shop.

Salt water taffy heaven.

As you can see, one of the BEST parts of being down the shore is the food. Sometimes a trip to the boardwalk really isn’t so much about catching waves or feeling your toes in the sand as it is about deciding what treat to eat next.

My eating adventure began with lunch at the Bashful Banana. It’s tucked off the main drag and is one of the only places on the boardwalk where you can get vegetarian, vegan, and clean, healthy eats.

Veggie burger on multi-grain bun with mushrooms, onions, Swiss, and turkey bacon. Side of fresh fruit.

Relaxing lunch in the shade.

I returned to the Bashful Banana a few hours later for my second treat: their famous “Banana Whip” dessert. It tastes like custard, but it’s only frozen banana + water. No dairy, no binders, nothing but fruit. I ordered a banana + strawberry whip with peanut butter chips, walnuts, and fudge sauce made from fruit.

The bottom was nothing but the peanut butter chips and fudge sauce. Mmmm...

For dinner I hit up Mack & Manco’s. It’s sacrilege to visit Ocean City and NOT get Mack & Manco’s pizza.

My final treat was Kohr Bros. custard. Although I love the vegan options that Bashful Banana serves, I do not follow a vegan diet and do not hesitate to get a classic vanilla custard with chocolate sprinkles/jimmies.

My visit down the shore lasted from noon till about 7:15, when I reluctantly decided to walk back to my car. I passed an older couple on their cell phone, talking to a friend: “It’s a little breezy right now, but the sun is shining. It’s beautiful. It’s just a beautiful day down here.”

A day at the shore contains so many stimuli, and driving home proved just to be as engaging. I swerved to avoid a giant turtle crossing the highway, and then I drove from blue skies to what looked like the end of the world. Black clouds–not even gray–loomed in front of me, and every time lightning flashed I could see the sunny sky behind all the doom and gloom. It was wild–and scary! An intense ending to an otherwise peaceful day.

…is the one that results after you tell yourself, “Oh, lemme do just a few sun salutations before I start dinner,” and then an hour later–after Warrior lunges, balancing postures, belly-down back stretches, a shoulderstand-to-plough-to-fish, headstand, savasana, pranayama, and meditation–you emerge from your little yoga room physically hungry but otherwise incredibly satiated and satisfied.

I surprise myself; sometimes on days where I feel utterly lazy or low on energy, all it takes are a few sun salutes, a couple of medicine ball tosses, or a few minutes dancing to that song featured the night before on So You Think You Can Dance and suddenly I’m doing an hour-long yoga practice, playing around with my dumbbells and resistance bands, or throwing a full-blown dance party in my living room to songs from my Grooveshark playlist.

I can’t necessarily plan for spontaneity–it’s a bit of an oxymoron–but it’s good to know that some of the best workouts can emerge without intention or preparation. It doesn’t always work; sometime blasting my favorite dance songs generates nothing more than half-assed hip sways and limp shoulder rolls, but it’s worth giving it a shot. If there’s something there, all it may take is one little spark to get the engine going.

Yogitastic’s post last week about her quest for the perfect yoga mat got me thinking about my current mat, ex-mats that didn’t work out so well, and mat experiences that ended in tragedy (I’m sure I could sell the rights to the Lifetime Movie Network).

When it comes to yoga, I’m not a very materialistic person—I don’t need a posh yoga mat bag (I toss mine naked in the back seat of my car) or snazzy designer clothes (I nearly peed my pants when I walked by Hard Tail’s Santa Monica headquarters during our vacation in California last fall but—feeling like I wasn’t “worthy” enough to even glance at the store-front window—I didn’t even dare go inside. I’m sure the salespeople would’ve seen right through me and called me out for my Old Navy and Target yoga pants). In fact, for my very first yoga class series (back in 1999, at my college’s recreation center, before yoga became hip), I didn’t even have a mat—I spread out a bathroom towel on the gym floor every week.

Beginning with bathroom towel yoga

After that initial introduction, I didn’t visit yoga again until about 2002, when I took classes here and there at my new gym. There, I relied on using the communal mats; at the time, yoga was “just another gym class” and had yet to become the lifestyle that it is for me now. So a borrowed mat is was.

I received my first real yoga mat at my bridal shower the following year. Bryan and I had difficulty finding objects to fill our wedding registry, so we each included a few “personal” items; he, a new electric razor; me, a Reebok yoga mat from Target. Therefore, I credit my sister-in-law with officially kicking off my passion for yoga. Thanks, Mina!

The Gray Mat was perfect. It had an ideal stickiness factor and was just the right thickness. All of the classes that shaped my opinion about yoga and got me interested in continuing the practice were done on that mat. It has a history! That mat traveled with me to Egypt in 2005 so I could do yoga in our hotel rooms and then to Disney World in 2007 for the same purpose. It was retired from official studio use probably somewhere around 2005 (the “feet” spots are threadbare and it was constantly shedding little gray rubber bits). But, like a ballerina’s first pair of pointe shoes, I cannot bring myself to get rid of the Gray Mat. It currently resides in my car trunk and is used as the “outdoor” yoga mat, perfect for when I’ve been driving a long time and need to spread out on the grass or a parking lot and stretch my back or do a long Downdog.

Prepared: Yoga mat, reusable bags, beach chairs, Nordic walking poles.

Definitely never going indoors ever again.

Up next came the super-cushy Rainbow mat, which was purchased because I got tired of my hip bones grinding into the floor during belly-down postures and wanted something a little thicker. I also liked it because it was bright yellow, red, and purple and stood out way more than my standard gray. However, I quickly realized that I really missed feeling the floor through the mat and didn’t like the way I felt so unstable on such a thick mat. I stored it in my closet and used it on and off for home practice until last summer, when I finally gave it away to my friend Sara who was just starting yoga and needed a fill-in mat before her husband bought one for her birthday. Therefore, I have no photos of the Rainbow mat!

Mat #3 was a reversible one (gray on one side, aqua on the other) from Nike—I’ll call it the Ineffective Mat. I bought it for its great stickiness factor—too great, unfortunately. Any time you step forward from a lunge or move your feet from one spot to another, the mat follows. It bunches up with every move, resulting in a yoga class full of groaning and adjusting. I recently saw a classmate with this style of mat, and she was constantly straightening it out throughout the whole class. Ineffective Mat was retired very quickly and is currently used as a base layer yoga mat (I’ll throw a thinner mat on top), or I’ll roll it up and put it under my knees for Camel or something.

Yogi Yog and the Funky Bunch

Autograph Mat. After Ineffective Mat came a royal blue Cory Everson-brand mat (NO idea who that is) from Modell’s. Now THIS was a good mat; I bought it in 2006 and still use it today (although it is losing its stickiness). Great thickness, great stickiness, no bunching. I took tons of classes with this mat; it was even my “bike” mat, which I toted along on my back while riding my bike to the gym. This mat followed me to Kripalu in 2006 for YTT and was used as an autograph book during our graduation party. I wanted a way to remember all of my classmates, so I asked that they sign my mat in permanent marker; several other people used the idea as well!

For that reason, I rarely take this mat outside the house, and I don’t think I can ever part with it. I remember using the mat months after YTT and just noticing messages for the first time—it was such a sweet surprise!

Surprisingly, even 5 years later, most of the signatures are still visible and few have smeared, even after sweating like a beast all over it. Autograph Mat is currently in my upstairs yoga room, and I do all of my home practices on it.

While at Kripalu, I purchased Mat #5, a super-thin orange mat by PrAna, in case I wasn’t able to use Autograph Mat again. It’s only 1/16”, so you can really feel the floor. I love everything about this mat….except that its weird texture totally rips up the bottoms of my feet.

Texture close-up!

I simply cannot use this mat in the winter, because weird texture + dry skin = bleeding big toes. In the spring and summer, however, it’s not as bad. In fact, I still use it in class today.

How I dry out my mat after hot yoga.

For a back-up mat, though–when my poor shredded toes needed a break–I returned to Modell’s and bought Mat #6, Savasa brand. I hemmed and hawed over which color to get, but it really didn’t matter because only a few months after purchasing it, a giant tree branch over our driveway fell onto my car, smashed the back window, and sent teeny-tiny shards of glass all over the mat, which was sitting in my back seat. I put it in the trash immediately, not wanting to risk finding a rogue piece of glass one day with my big toe or palm. Such a sad ending for Mat #6. 😦

Not the vrksasana I was hoping to see that morning.

With that, the search for the perfect yoga mat continued. I found one at Target that I fell in love with…it was an earthy brown Gaiam with five decorative lines running vertically from top to bottom. Those lines were the selling point because I have issues keeping my hands and feet equal distance apart in Downdog, and this would keep me even. This mat was great for the first couple of classes, but then its stickiness rapidly began to wane. I’ve had to stop using it because my hands slide all over the place in Downdog, or I only bring it to hot yoga, when I’ll be throwing a towel on top of it.

I’m sure as soon as the weather cools down and my skin starts to dry out, I’ll be ditching my rough orange PrAna mat and once again begin the neverending quest for a replacement. In a perfect world, there’d be a yoga mat outlet right down the street from me, and I could go in and test the mats on hard floors, rubbery floors, carpeted floors, dry skin, wet skin, in shorts, in pants, rain, shine, wind, or snow.

…And all of them would magically repel flying shards of glass. 🙂

What mat do you use? Have you had any bad mat experiences?

Last week I posted about getting back in the flow of the universe, which for me is evident when I start experience a lot of coincidences/moments of synchronicity. The three I mentioned were all positive moments, like dreaming about iced coffee and then it manifesting in real life on my desk at work. Another uplifting moment of feeling “plugged in” happened this weekend, starting when my friend Carrol’s e-mail went haywire and sent out a bunch of old messages, so that on Friday night I opened my inbox and found an e-mail from her dated October 2010. I was perplexed but shrugged it off as an accident…and then the very next morning, Carrol calls me and asks if we can get together, because she has a gift for me!

The gift was awesome–it was a metal spiral pendant Carrol bought at Kripalu during her recent R&R. It’s made by Allison (http://www.prasadaspirit.com) from the KDZ drum ensemble at Kripalu, so Carrol noted that it’s nice to wear something made from the hands that play a djembe all day. The sounds of a drumbeat will play along with our heartbeats whenever we wear our pendants!

The next moment of synchronicity happened as Carrol and I were chatting about her training as an art therapist. I was trying to describe to her a drawing that I had made at the end of my yoga teacher training (the result of being asked “Draw what your future looks like”), when suddenly it dawned on me that one of the recurring elements of the artwork were spirals. As soon as I got home, I texted Carrol a photo of a portion of my drawing and the spiral pendant she had just brought home from Kripalu for me.

2006 Kripalu drawing with 2011 pendant from Kripalu.

It’s really wild when stuff like that happens, but not all synchronicities are necessarily ones that you want to acknowledge. For example, when I wake up on Thursday and my hip feels weird and wonky, I do not want to come into work, pass my coworker’s computer, and see a medical photo of a torn hip labrum displayed all big-ass on her monitor for an assignment she was working on. It could have stopped there, but no! Then I find out this particular coworker’s brother is having hip surgery the following week for his busted cartilage. And then–oh yeah, there’s more!–I read the latest posting from The Happiness Project blog on my Google Reader, and it’s an interview with author Meghan O’Rourke. What’s a simple activity that consistently makes you happier?, the interviewer asks. “Taking a walk,” Meghan replies. “I used to run a lot, and that always made me happier (even if I was unhappy lacing up my shoes to do it). But I tore the cartilage in my right hip and need surgery – so I can’t run anymore.” Womp-womp. So it didn’t surprise me later that night when, during hot yoga class, the teacher decides to lead us through upavistha konasana, which, after pigeon, is one of the most painful and nearly impossible poses for me to do with my hip issues.

What made this super-weird was that, on top of all the hip stuff I had been encountering earlier in the day, I had just been thinking to myself, “Man, I’m so glad the teacher never does upavistha konasana in class!” Because seriously, for the past nine months I’ve been taking her class, never–NEVER!–has she done this pose. We’ve done prasarita padottanasana (difficult, but easier than sitting poses)…

…but never upavistha konasana. ::sigh:: Oh, synchronicity, you’re not all smiles and rainbows all of the time, are you?!

I struggled during the pose. I used to be able to flatten my chest to the ground, stick my arms out in front of me, and slide through a straddle position, ending with my legs straight out behind me. Now I was barely able to lean forward. Sometimes I like that it’s a hot yoga class I go to, so when I feel my lips start to tremble I can grab my hand towel and wipe the tears sweat from my eyes. After what felt like 20 minutes in the pose, the teacher guided us into the next pose.

Pigeon, of course.

I was thisclose to leaving the studio for a crying bathroom break. I have struggled many times in class but never to the point where I used the bathroom as an escape. I thought back to Kripalu and the whole Breathe-Relax-Feel-Watch-Allow prescription, and here I was, totally attempting to bail out of the Watch and Allow elements. So I stayed, lying on my back for my substitute pose for pigeon, draping my ankle over the other bent knee and drawing the legs toward the chest. I took deep belly breaths, focusing all of my efforts on inhaling and exhaling, trying not to let the mind take over. Living in the moment, even if the present is an uncomfortable asana that punctuates a day full of sucky synchronicity.

Ever since having to give up running last year, I’ve turned to swimming as my main workout. My gym has an indoor, heated, salt-water pool with 25-yard lanes, and there I do my laps. In the year and a half I’ve been swimming, I have definitely progressed. I don’t fatigue as easily, my lap times have improved, and I feel more “in the flow” when I move, rather than just chopping furiously through the water.

I see my husband and friends competing in all these 5Ks and races and stuff and have been bummed that there’s nothing like that for swimming. (Typical triathlon relays don’t count, because swimming in the open water is nothing–NOTHING–like doing solo laps in heated, aquamarine pool.) So when I saw an advertisement for a duathlon (swimming and running) (a) with a relay option and (b) that took place in a pool, I felt like I couldn’t turn it down. My husband Bryan agreed to be my running teammate, but then once it came time to send in the entry form, I got cold feet and let it sit for a while. I don’t consider myself a competitive swimmer! I may swim faster than the 50-year-old man in the lane next to me, but then along comes a 17-year-old girl from her high school’s swim team, and she butterflies my ass out of the water. I swim because it’s a good workout. Because it doesn’t bother my hip. Because on 90 degree days it just feels darn good to leave the hot car and jump into the cool water.

Finally, I talked myself back into doing the event, mostly because I didn’t want to be a hypocrite for whining about there not being any pool-related competitions, and then when the opportunity arises, for me to turn it down. Also, Bryan sent in the check and kind of bypassed me in the process. 🙂

After a week of above-average temperatures extending into the 90s, Saturday, duathlon day, started out a chilly 56 degrees with only a high of 79 predicted. I reached into the back of my dresser to pull out the sweatpants and hoodie I thought I had tucked away for good until at least September. Even though the swim event was taking place in a pool, the pool was outside. Outside, unheated, and chlorinated.

This picture pretty much sums up my feelings about how things went:

That’s me, after my 500 meters, panting like a dog, dubious that I had really only swam 10 complete laps and not the 25 like it had felt, and way disappointed at my time. In my practice runs at the gym, I clocked in between 7:12 and 7:38 for 10 laps; however, the lengths between the two pools are not exactly equal. My time for this 500m was 11:02.

It started off the moment I jumped in the water–it was COLD. Not Atlantic Ocean cold, but much colder than what I was used to. I instantly felt my chest tighten, and I bobbed up and down trying to warm up. Once I started swimming, I felt OK for the first half of my first lap…and then I looked to see how close I was to the wall, and there was a lot more space to go. My body was so used to hitting the wall after so many strokes, and in this bizarro pool everything was just a tad longer. The gap in between where my mind said “wall” and where the actual wall was felt like miles, and with that thought my brain went into full-blown panic mode.

The sensation that resulted was probably akin to a panic attack…not being able to breathe, feeling like you’re going to die, just wanting someone to end your misery. It wasn’t exhaustion or panting, just more like someone flipping an “off” button in my lungs. I attempted to keep swimming at this time, but it didn’t last very long. I had stop several times in the middle of the pool, stand in place, and regain my composure. Then I’d swim, swim, swim, STOP AND BREATHE FOR DEAR LIFE. I heard Bryan on the side of the pool shout my name for motivation, and that made me feel worse, because I just could not get my act together, not even for my husband.

The first five laps were a mess. At the gym, I normally follow a stroke-stroke-stroke-breathe pattern; now it was stroke-breathe, stroke-breathe. Just focus on your breathing, my yoga mind told my floundering body. Visualize that oxygen pumping throughout your body, and the rest will fall into place. I could have done an hour of pranayama practice before this event; none of it would have made a difference. (Also, it’s a bit hard to do alternate nostril breathing while swimming.) I totally lost count of what lap I was on, and because I had my mondo earplugs in, I couldn’t hear what the timers on the side were saying. I could have been on lap five, maybe lap 15. I had no idea. I just keep on swimming.

Things began feeling slightly better somewhere between Lap 6 and 7. I frantically thought of a mantra I could repeat, and I stuck with Om Namah Shivaya, the only one that came into my head at the time. It would work for a few strokes, my mind would drift off, and then I’d have to corral it back in again. I also tried to focus on fluidity–You’re dancing! I told myself. Just move with grace through the water, approach it like the Flowing portion of 5Rhythms.

It was some of the crappiest dancing I’ve ever done, but the pep talks and visualizations helped me complete all 10 laps without dying, giving up, or requesting to finish the race in the baby pool.

As I said, my time was 11:02. I pouted and moped, but then I saw someone swim without once putting her head in the water, and I felt a little better.

An hour later, it was time for the 5K portion. Bryan started off strong, but the less-than-ideal road conditions (being forced to run on the sidewalk and dodge yard sale-goers) slowed him down and flattened him out mentally. He still ran a relatively fast 23-something, but it wasn’t his normal time.

We both sulked back to the clubhouse with little gray clouds over our heads and the Charlie Brown Christmas Song playing in the background (sorry, had to throw in an Arrested Development reference there!).

However, despite our mediocre times, we came in first place for the team category of the event! Alone, our times wouldn’t have gotten us any prizes, but together we took home a $20 gift certificate for the local running/sports store.

There’s no “I” in duathlon…teamwork rocks!

I had such a deep desire this past week to run off to the Jersey shore for a day on the boardwalk. The weather has been stellar, and had it not been Memorial Day on Monday, man, I would have wasted no time getting onto the AC Expressway and cruising down to Ocean City.

I’m not a beach bum but I do love spending a day walking the boards and taking in all the sights, sounds, and smells of the seashore. The minute I hear the sound of the steel grid of the causeway bridge under my car tires–followed by the cry of the seagulls swooping over the bay–all of my senses are fired up. There’s the smell of curly fries and chocolate fudge, the taste of Mack and Manco’s pizza, the sight of the majestic Atlantic Ocean, the sound of arcade games, and the feel of slimy sunscreen all over my body, causing my pale skin to glow.

My husband finally convinced me that Memorial Day weekend was not the time for an impromptu drive down the shore, so instead I tried to make note of all the other wonderful, non-beach-related things this past week that tickled my senses. For example:

– The sight of Hidden Mickeys in my Sunday morning breakfast, which also included the glorious smell and taste of toasted cinnamon raisin muffins, something I’ve been craving since someone in my office toasted something cinnamon-raisiny, which is the smell of the gods.

– There was the taste of that first-really-hot-day-of-the-year bottle of beer, so cold in my hand, the condensation chilling my fingers.

– While I was trying to take a picture of the baby geese in the park, I spied something even more intriguing…a snake!


– As Bryan and I climbed the steep stone steps of the park at Red Bank on a super-humid day, I felt my heart pound inside my chest and saw sweat in my eyes.

– The park offered many more sensory pleasures, like the sound of the guy with the headphones singing a severely off-key version of “Kokomo.” Or the sight of planes landing across the river at Philly International. Or the sound of the air traffic controllers and pilots talking about descending and landing, because Bryan found a live feed of the transmissions from the air traffic control tower on his iPhone, and we totally dorked out for the next 30 minutes knowing which airliners would be making their approach. (Did you know the call sign for US Airways is “Cactus”?)


– On Friday, I tasted something new: banana sushi (right). This plate arrived, and I said, “Oh my, I will be taking home leftovers!” And then I ate it all.


– After sushi, it was time to see a half-asleep baby. Even more delightful was hearing her response to her daddy’s “Thundercats!” call. So faint and so sleepy and so cutie-patootie baby-voice, she responded, “Ho!”

– On Tuesday, with its high of 95 degrees, my upstairs felt like a hot yoga studio. So I did hot (Jivamukti) yoga.

– It is very tempting to visit the frozen yogurt joint when it’s 65, 70 degrees out, but waiting until a 90-something degree day makes the taste of soft-serve fro-yo a bajillion times better. And oh, how quickly it melts.

– Random smells: BBQ and charcoal in backyard picnics, funnel cake stands at the May Fair, gasoline from motorboats on the Delaware River, damp wood that reminded me of my childhood summers at Camp Johnsonberg, faded sunscreen, BO.

It’s good to see words on paper, too. Up until a few weeks ago, I couldn’t even remember the last time I was actively engaged in reading and finished a book. Then I started a regular routine of reading while walking and finished The Tipping Point and am nearly done with Realityland.

– On the walk home from the May Fair, I felt the sky open up and pour down onto my body. I was utterly drenched with nowhere to run for cover, but it was nature’s way of giving my stinky, sweaty, sticky body a refreshing bath.

– Going to the gym for my swimming workouts isn’t always easy in the fall and winter, but jumping into the pool on a hot day feels fanTAStic!

Tomorrow morning it’s only supposed to be in the mid- to upper 50s, and I will be swimming…outside. More on that sensory shock to come!

One way of knowing that I’m truly engaged in the rest of the world, plugged into the matrix of the universe, is how many moments of synchronicity I experience. Back in the day when I was doing 60+ minute yoga sessions almost seven days a week, I was totally in the flow–not just a juicy physical flow but immersed in the flow of the world around me. I experienced coincidences all the time: I’d run into people I was just thinking of; a song would come on the radio just as I wishing that particular song would play; I’d contemplate a big trip to China and then come home, switch on the TV, and come face to face with a travel documentary about China AND get a phone call the same day from a Chinese woman (true story!).

I find that as my yoga practice dwindles, so do these special moments of connection. Maybe they’re still there, but my receptors just aren’t on. Life without yoga and breath is like living in a house with the blinds shut all the time: Everything is still out there–those people, that music, those opportunities–but I’m just closed off to them. I can go about my life just fine, but I’m shrouded and shut off from those moments of brilliance and clarity.

However, for the past few months I’ve been very committed to beginning each day with some meditation and pranayama. Nothing crazy–no more than 10 minutes in the morning–but I just have to do it. I missed being in tune with myself. My brain felt foggy from my stifled breathing and lack of oxygen. Plus, I recently listened to an interview about pranayama with Larissa Hall Carlson on a Kripalu Perspectives podcast; I took a few classes with her during my YTT, and she freakin’ blew me away. She is the Queen of Breathwork, and I remember feeling like I was dancing on clouds after 90 minutes with her. Her podcast interview was very inspiring and reminded me about the importance of those two little words: inhale and exhale.

So each morning, I do little nadi shodhana (alternate nostril breathing), right-nostril breathing (the “solar” side), and then finally kapalabhati (cleansing) breath, which is like the extra-caffeinated version of breathing exercises. (I took time this morning to use my neti pot beforehand, and WOAH, each breath was like a shot of espresso in my brain!)

What I’ve found is that as I am getting reacquainted with my breath, those much-appreciated moments of synchronicity are returning. Slowly and gradually I am getting “plugged in” again. For example:

(a) The Dunkin Donuts Dream.

Earlier this week I had a very innocuous dream about being very tired and bored at work, but then looking up and finding an iced coffee from DD on my desk. The coffee made everything seem so much better, and I sipped my cold treat with joy. For me, this dream is actually very odd because I usually don’t have normal dreams. My dreams usually involve terrorist plots, friends turning into aliens, nightmares about taking hundreds of photos in Disney World and then having the roll of film fall out of the camera into the destructive daylight.

The next morning (in real life), my husband calls me from the road and tells me he is stopping by my office to say hi. I greet him outside, complaining about the broken air conditioner (“I’m hot!”) and my lethargy (“I’m tired!”). And then Bryan–having no idea about my dream, and even I forgetting about it–asks me if he should go to Dunkin Donuts to get me an iced coffee.

Suddenly alarms went off in my head, and I may have even pushed Bryan in disbelief in an Elaine Benes “Get out!” kind of way. And then 10 minutes later I was sitting at my desk at work with an iced coffee from Dunkin Donuts sitting on my desk, helping me get through the afternoon.

(b) The Black Woman.

During lunch on Tuesday afternoon, my coworker and I somehow got on the topic of how women of different races carry themselves, specifically how Black women exude so much confidence. I talked about my love of African American hair, black skin, and just my overall fascination with women of color.

That evening, I went to yoga class as usual. The only difference this time was that a new student dropped by that night. As you may have already guessed, she was a beautiful Black woman, smooth cocoa skin, and the poise of a yoga model. Up until then, there had never been a Black female in that class.

(c) Egypt.

When I stepped out the front door on Thursday morning, it smelled like Cairo. Perhaps there was a fire somewhere in the area, but the aromatic smell of burning instantly transported me back to Egypt, that  smoky and hazy blanket that constantly covered the city. It’s incredible how strong the sense of smell is, and how one whiff of something familiar can take your mind back years ago. A rush of images flooded through my mind every time I inhaled: the green lights strung on the minarets, the dusty streets lined with sheesha pipe-smoking men, the perpetual haze that stuck to the sky and blocked out the stars’ natural glow, the neverending flow of traffic, the browns and beiges of the landscape. I was half expecting to hear a muezzin sing a call to prayer or see the outline of the Citadel in front of me.

That afternoon, our company had a summer picnic. A coworker introduced me to the new IT guy…who just so happens to be Egyptian. He still has family in Egypt! He visits Egypt every summer! “I was in Egypt in 2005!” I exclaim, and suddenly I was engaged in a 30-minute conversation about the country I smelled so vividly that morning.

Bottom line? It’s nice to be back in the “sync” of things. It’s definitely a breath of fresh air. 🙂

Dear Self,

You are easily irritated when you see other people working out in such a way that is inefficient or potentially injurious. For example, that young girl at the gym whose idea of crunches was to lie on her back and flail every part of her body except her abs? Not cool. And the teenager who took up space in the stretching area to catch up on her texting and Facebook status surfing? Please take your social networking elsewhere.

But perhaps the most jarring image was that of the middle-aged woman who sat down on a mat, extended her legs straight out in front, and collapsed into a forward fold, bending somewhere between the thoracic and lumbar spine, forming the letter C with her back in an effort to touch her toes.

In yoga, the stretch is called paschimottanasana. It’s done in almost every class, and it’s a posture that nearly every beginning yogi is corrected on. Everyone wants to show off and touch their toes, and in doing so compromises the integrity of the stretch by bending from their back instead of their hips. The goal of the pose isn’t to see how curved you can make your spine; it’s to feel a stretch in the hamstrings, which for many can be felt waaay before the hands reach the feet.

As a once very naturally very flexible person, I understand how you may one day unintentionally creep into that curved spine position just so you can revisit the good ol’ days, your hands bound around your feet and your chin inching toward the shins.

Image courtesy of Yoga Journal

But when that happens, Jen, please look at your profile in the mirror. When your back no longer looks like a see-saw–when instead of being a straight line from your head to your hips your back looks like that of a hunched-over mad scientist–back off. Return to dandasana, regroup, and then fold from the hip creases. Even if your hands only reach your ankles, your knees–maybe you’ll even have to use a strap!–keep the back flat and enjoy the stretch. It will probably feel just as good at 45 degrees as it did in your youth when your back was nearly parallel with your legs.

Source: LightenUpYoga.com

I know it’s hard not to yearn for the past, that desire to be a 20-year-old Gumby again, but the intensity of yoga postures can be experienced at any stage of the stretch, just as you felt last night in hot vinyasa class when you closed your eyes during your halfway-there paschimottanasana and sunk deep into a state of pseudo-bliss, your breaths expanding and contracting your belly and back like a slow-motion dance.

There is no need for grimacing and struggling and hunching in yoga. Stop where it feels right, breathe into the stretch, use all the props you need to feel openness, lightness, and expansion. Despite what everyone says about yoga, you know well enough that it’s not about “touching your toes.” Stay true to your form, and don’t cave in–figuratively (to an ideal) or literally (your back!).

Your 30-year-old self,

Jennifer

About the Author

Name: Jennifer

Location: Greater Philadelphia Area

Blog Mission:
SHARE my practice experience in conscious dance and yoga,

EXPAND my network of like-minded individuals,

FULFILL my desire to work with words in a more creative and community-building capacity;

FLOW and GROW with the world around me!

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