This is tough.
I can tell that yoga’s tough because I’ve started coming up with excused to NOT do it. All of a sudden my bed is made, my lunch is packed, and my dishes are clean, and – what do you know – I’ve run out of time to squeeze in that yoga practice. It used to be that yoga was a non-negotiable. That at certain times on certain days I was doing yoga come hell, high water, or both (the latter of which was usually the case). It used to be that yoga time was anticipated, cherished, and guarded time during my week. But over time, my weekly yoga date became eroded by the crashing waves of busy work schedules, family, and friends. And also over time I’ve grown tired to the point of near-disgust of my same old yoga podcasts, finding myself grating at the very change in the instructors intonation like: “Oh she finally hit that frog in her throat; I know we’ve only got 12 minutes to go!“
This is really tough.
It’s not just the difficulty of finding time to do yoga that’s difficult. Since I haven’t been doing yoga with any regularity, I’ve become less adept at it. Now, before all you yogi’s get your hot shorts in a twist, let me say from the outset that I KNOW yoga is not a competitive sport. I KNOW that what I used to be able to do in yoga is in the past, and therefore not “real,” and that what I aspire to recover in yog-ability is in the future, and every bit the figment that my past lithe self is. I KNOW that the only reality is now: the shaky chaturanga, the shallower warrior 2 knee-bend, and the only faintly grazing of my fingers on my toes in a forward fold. But that’s a bit of bitter pill to swallow, isn’t it. I used to rock at this, and now I’ve backslid to the bottom of Newb Mountain (a heinous and deplorable place to be). I’m also struggling to decide which is worse, being a beginner all over again, or the fact that I ALLOWED myself to get here. I had something I enjoyed, I’d worked hard to get to place I loved, and I frittered it all away with wasted hours of work, wine, and whining (not necessarily in that order).
The only answer for tough is tough.
If I’m going to really do this 30 Day Yoga Challenge, and if – more importantly – I’m going to get back to being the kind of yogi I really want to be, I’ll have to be tougher than the toughness around me. I’ll have to level my sights on the forty-five minutes just beyond the snooze button. I’ll have to viciously guard the thirty minutes after my last daily conference call needed to change and get my butt to the studio. I’ll have to hold fast to the deal that Saturday morning frozen coffee is for yogis only: no bed-slugs allowed!
It’s hard to believe that I’ve reached a point where I’m pep-talking myself into doing yoga. I’m cranking up the Chariots of Fire and jogging up the concrete stept to the studio. I’m going to do this, because I want to and because I can. See you on the mat; even if it kills me.
I’m tough, too.