On Becoming a Pretzel

A couple years ago Stein and I took yoga. We were good for about a year or two, taking session after session of Yoga I. It was a great class, and it did all the good things that yoga is supposed to do - made us more flexible, more relaxed, and able to brag that we were able to do a shoulder stand (with a wall nearby, of course). We were regulars with the teacher we had, as were about five other people who were too scared or lazy to move on to level I-II, or level II.

Fast forward to about a month ago. I took a walk with my sister-in-law Anne one morning, and she told me that I needed to join the yoga I-II class that she had been taking. "It's a really good class," she went on to say, "And occasionally we go out for a beer afterward." It wasn't the promise that it was going to be a good class, it was the promise of the beer that got me to sign up.

The first week, I was reminded of just how long it had been since my last yoga class. I was also reminded that it has been a long while since I worked out in general. But I went with it, and stretched my body in ways that I didn't think was possible. We did things in that first class that Stein and I didn't master until the end of the sessions in Yoga I. I felt the effects on my body the next day - I could barely walk down the stairs!

The second week, Anne couldn't go, so I braved the class alone. And what a class it was. The teacher continued to have us do harder poses that I remembered from Yoga I. My confidence was building as we twisted and stretched, even though she corrected me a lot. I thought, look at me, in a Yoga I-II class! I can do all of this stuff. And I haven't pulled a muscle!

About 20 minutes before the end of the class, the teacher announced that we would be doing shoulder stands. Seriously? I thought. The second class in the session and we're doing shoulder stands? I gave it a try. I started remembering how to do it. But I didn't remember everything. The teacher had to help. A lot. My legs flailed in the air like some sort of upside-down chicken, fighting for her life. The teacher wrangled my legs, and stood them upright. It didn't take long for them to start falling, and the flailing would begin again. What a rookie.

I must be a glutton for punishment, because I went again last night. Same scenario: Anne wasn't there, and 20 minutes before the end of the class, the teacher announced we were going to do shoulder stands. I was ready for it. But it had a twist (so to speak). We did them against the wall with our heads close to the wall. As if a repeat of the last class was cued, the flailing began. This time, I could barely get my legs up in the air. My teacher grabbed my legs, and tried to help me get them up onto the wall. The pressure of the wall on my head must have cut off some of my brain cells, because at one point, the teacher was saying, "Bend your legs!" and I straightened my legs like a world-class gymnast. She must have repeated, "Bend your legs!" about three more times, when something in my brain fired and I understood what she was saying. I bent my legs.

Today, I can get down the stairs, and besides a sore head, I'm pretty good. I'm hoping that as the session goes on I will become as flexible and relaxed as I had been before. Just don't ask me to do a shoulder stand.