I was introduced to yoga a few years ago. I
was justifiably correct in thinking that I was
putting myself out on a limb, but didn't realize
that the universe of written words paralleled
the yoga lessons I was about to undertake. Pushing
limits and perseverance are key in both worlds.
I remembered feeling like a big honking chunk
of potato that had dropped into a bowl of beautifully
twisted human pretzels. Everyone was wearing the
right sort of clothing to facilitate the yoga
movements with ease and the more experienced devotees
sported intricate tattoos on various parts of
their supple bodies. I wore my beat up old shorts
and a big floppy t-shirt, hoping fervently that
I could somehow disappear underneath it.
The instructor patiently guided the class through
breathing and poses throughout that long and agonizing
evening. I was paranoid in thinking I was the
teacher's prime target. I struggled to hold even
the most basic "Tree" (Vrksasana) pose.
All I had to do was stand on one leg with the
opposite leg bent and the bottom of my feet was
to be placed on the thigh of my standing leg.
Sounds easy, right?
Not. The pose also required stretching both arms
above my head to lengthen my drum tight torso
and I had to remember to breathe into my pose.
My yogi-mates stood balanced on their one leg
with enviable ease. They could have stayed in
that position until the next millenium. I was
wobbling madly, trying desperately to find my
"center." I never found it.
I was miserable for the hour and a half it took
before the class mercifully ended. I remembered
thinking that something so simple should have
been fairly easy to do. All I had to do was move
my body parts into the right position and voila.
I adopted the same simplistic assumption when
I tried to write a story worth reading. After
all, the words were inside of me, waiting to be
put on paper. Oh boy, was I ever wrong.
I was so disheartened with the outcome of my
first yoga experience that I really didn't think
I would try again. The disappointment mirrored
exactly the way I felt about my initial attempts
to capture the awesome stories floating around
in my gray matter.
I sat on my thin little, uncomfortable mat at
the end of the session, imagining myself back
home, reclining on my sofa with the television
remote in my hand, surfing channels as a recreational
sport.
The calm, soothing voice of the instructor broke
through my misery. She recited some insightful
thoughts of long ago yogis and encouraged us to
continue seeking the unlimited strength and beauty
within ourselves.
I hobbled home that night with a body that had
not sweated or cried out in pain for a very, very
long time. I climbed into a tub of hot water,
hoping to ease away the excruciating discomfort
and tried to forget the whole pathetic experience.
That night had left its mark on me. Muscles that
had almost atrophied from lack of use protested
vigorously at the wake-up call. It took almost
a week before I could move pain-free. I thought
a lot about how inflexible I had become, both
in body and in mind.
Although I did not go back to class for a while,
I did go to the library and picked up some books
on the teachings of yoga. I wanted to better understand
what I really wanted to do with my body, myself.
I watched a variety of yoga tapes and tried it
again in the privacy of my home. It was less stressful.
I took my time learning how my body felt when
moving to the poses in my mind's eye. I listened
and learned from the voice of experience at RWA-GVC
meetings. I was learning about myself from the
inside out.
I worked slowly, stretching beyond the limitations
I thought my body held. With each movement, I
breathed in to draw energy; held the pose to contemplate
and then exhaled. I plotted, I wrote, I edited,
and then got stuck in a groove.
I practiced sporadically, going for periods of
time without even holding a standing "Mountain"
(Tadasana) pose. I was lured back to a sedentary
lifestyle again.
This time, my body did not agree with the decision.
Without quite knowing how it happened, I actually
liked the euphoric feeling after a good sweaty
yoga workout. I found myself holding my body taller;
I saw everything through squeaky-clean glasses
and I felt great, so much more energetic. I picked
up the pen and applied it to paper once again.
I was ready to venture forward and up my comfort
level in the yoga studio. I loved it. This time
around, I saw individuals working to go beyond
their own limits, and at the same time in sync
with the rest of the class.
As my body learned to go beyond preconceived
boundaries, the joy of creative writing paced
right alongside. The members of my local RWA®-GVC
are my writing poses. I learned from them the
beauty of stretching beyond my imagination and
to just do it and reach for my dreams.
Yoga, like writing, is essentially a solitary
experience but it is richer when shared with a
group of like-minded souls.
Helen Cho has spent most of her life feeding
people vast quantities of food, organizing their
holidays in Canada and beyond and is now writing
to give them something to read on their journeys.
Helen is a member of GVC and loves adventures
from her base on the Canadian West Coast.
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