What are the ways it's NOT hot?

They say that when one door closes, another one opens. What if you shut that door yourself? What if the universe doesn't do it for you, and you have to weigh the risks involved? "Do I want to keep walking through this door? Will another one really open?"

I spent a good amount of time recently wondering if I should shut a particular door. I pleaded with friends. I questioned my yoga teacher. I asked my family. I asked myself, and I asked the door itself. "Should I shut you?"

I don't know if "I should/shouldn't" "She should/shouldn't" statements are the best ones to let churn around one's mind. I will, however, offer up my tiny little testimony: shut the door, sometimes you see doors that have always been there. You've just been to door-obsessed to notice how unique, simple, ornate, solid, and beautifully-made they always were.

OK, back to the "I" voice ;-) One of the doors I'm seeing more clearly lately is yoga. Each time I go, it's a transformation. The possibilities for progress are always there. In the Bikram blogging world, it's a cliche to write about how a class that is "the same every time" provides ample opportunity for different experiences.

Lately, I've been taking those 20-second savasanas to question my stressful thoughts that come up during class. We've all had the "It's too freakin' hot. The teacher should really turn it down" thought. So, when I notice that's coming up, when I see the students wilting like sad Icelandic poppies in gushing heat, when I see the puddle of sweat on my towel is abnormally large, I think about it. What are the ways it's not too hot? Let me count them :-) I can still feel my body, my heart rate slows when I'm not in the posture, I keep sweating, I keep thinking... etc.

It seriously works! I've had a couple of classes lately that were hotter than normal, but my experience in the room was much better than it "should" have been.

Ay, speaking of "should," I feel like I should come back to the door metaphor ;-) Take the time to look around, I guess. They are many doors that are already open. That much, I can promise.

A not wilty Icelandic Poppy

Oh, the Memories.

I love the end of the year. I enjoy the holidays, the time off, and the turning of the old year into the new. I revel in reflecting over the year. Even if the downs stand out front and center, I manage to be able to anticipate lots of ups in the coming year.

Of course, I've been reflecting a lot about yoga class. Last Saturday, I had a pretty tough one. It was hot, it was humbling, and I had to leave the room during the standing series. Initially, I was so humbled it hurt. As I walked back toward the hot room, feeling the heat and dread radiating at me, I realized that I actually had come a long way, baby, since starting up this practice again.

I remember my first day back. I knew it would be tough, but I thought, "I run miles at a time. I'm in pretty darn good shape. I bet I do OK." Uh, no.

But from there, it was progress. One way or another. Midway through the semester, I remind my composition students that learning is not always a pretty, straightforward process. We desperately want it to be like this!

But really, it's more like this.

It goes up, it goes down, and there may be more than one way of measuring progress. Learning--progressing--in life or in yoga is so not straightforward.

I remember when I couldn't stand in standing-head-to-knee pose, even with the leg sort-of locked, for the full minute or 30 seconds. My standing leg would just burn, and I'd have to come out early.

I remember when I couldn't do Camel for both sets. I'd feel like my heart was a hummingbird and that someone was about to eviscerate me.

I remember that in Fixed Firm, because knees and ankles tight from running, I couldn't go all the way back. Kaphlbahti breathing made me feel sick, and I could never, ever balance fully in Toe Stand.

Most of all, I remember that I would always have this odd misconception of what other students in the class were capable of, even though I rarely look around the room. "You suck! Everyone else is doing this pose better than you!" I'd say to myself.

I'm happy to say all those things aren't true anymore. Well, they're usually not true anymore. Other challenges have cropped up as some resolve, and some of my hot room demons still haunt my practice.

Progress may not go in that nice, upward line, but one thing is certain: it always goes forward.

Plateaus and progress

Hello, blogger friends! OK, so... while I've been reading your blogs avidly, I have clearly been lacking on doing posting of my own. Maybe I'm in the doldrums of summer, or maybe some recent (good) changes in my life have distracted me a bit. Another likely culprit is that I'm at a bit of a plateau in my practice, and I want to cocoon into that, rather than blogging about it.

In class, I have to struggle to turn off the negative, cynical narrator I've got in the back of my head: "oh man, I'm still only here in Standing Head-to-Knee? I can't get past step two." Lately, I have to remind myself that progress isn't necessarily reflected in an ability to go deeper into the postures. It can be manifested elsewhere, outside the hotroom.

I had an interesting experience last night in another, Ashtanga-based class. Just a litle bit of background: when I was 16, I started taking Ashtanga classes and practiced Ashtanga quite regularly for about ten years. Toward the end of those ten years, I did "pure" first series at least twice a week.

Now, there's a posture in first series called Marichasana D.

It's like the Bikram Spinal Twist on crack! Marichasana D was my nemesis. Every time I'd get to that part in the sequence, I'd think, "It doesn't matter how flexible or strong I get. My body isn't built for this pose; I'll never do it without the help of the teacher." Well, last night at the Ashtanga-y class I took with a couple of my dear friends, the teacher gave us an opportunity to try it. And I slid right into it.

Mind you, I'm sure I didn't look anything like the picture. I think my right knee was off the floor. But I was able to do it! And I did it after a two-year hiatus from Ashtanga.

The experience was such a great reminder. You don't always see the progress right away. It's not a steady, uphill climb, with the mountain top getting closer and closer. Sometimes, the evidence of your work happens later--much later--and in unexpected ways. I may still be stuck in Standing Head to Knee, but there is progress in my life in other areas: I can easily do a four-mile jog. Panicky and racing thoughts are stilled much more quickly after beginning this practice. I've actually taken up sitting in meditation each morning (now that is the scariest undertaking of them all!)

It was also cool to note that only after a steady Bikram practice that I was able to get into that pose. I guess the series, "simple" as it may be, really does prepare you for everything else!

Confession Time: On leaving the room

I've been thinking about asking y'all this question for a while now.

Ready?

OK: Do you ever leave the room? In my last few of months of reading blogs, I noticed this isn't discussed much. I hope y'all are such rockstars that you just never leave. If that's the case, more power to you. I'm not asking for confessions--just curious about your thoughts on the matter, I guess.

So, I left the room tonight. I probably duck out once a month. Initially, I felt kinda bad about doing so. The teachers typically ask, "Are you OK? Try to stay in the room" as folks leave, and that's a deterrent that usually keeps me on the mat. Initially, in leaving, I felt like I was violating a code. I definitely didn't want to set a bad example and encourage others to go, nor did I want to set myself up for chronic spine-strengthening series-ditching. (I still don't want this, of course.)

But sometimes, you gotta go. I do, anyway. I can take the occasional bout of dizziness or nausea, but when I get the two combined and I feel overheated, I don't feel guilty about leaving anymore. And sometimes things just don't feel right. As my friend would say, "Fuck that noise."

Class today was hot. I figured I'd adapt, that the heat would get turned down eventually, but tonight's was a cooker. I was feeling "the triple exposure" in postures I don't ordinarily feel it, and even after the languid Wind-Removing pose, I felt pretty terrible. I bailed as people were setting up for Cobra. Looking at my tomato-red face in the bathroom, I knew I'd made the right decision. I was way overheated and shaky. I stood at the sink for a couple of minutes splashing water on my face until I felt normal and made it back for the second set of Locust. 

So here's the real confession: I'm glad I left the room! Really glad, in fact. I've pushed through the pain before in situations like that but then am so tired that I half-ass the rest of the postures. Leaving typically gives me a little burst of energy. Today, I received and really appreciated a new correction in Half-Tortoise--a physical adjustment, mind you, and in Spanish. (Wrists really straight means, uh, wrists really straight. Who knew? And Spanish corrections are way cooler.) 

Please understand I'm not criticizing the teachers and their training for encouraging students to stay in the room. It's a great standard. It would be incredibly distracting if class was a carousel of ups-and-downs, ins-and-outs. And I appreciate the instructors' desire to get me to push through the pain and stick to it. Goodness knows I need it. But sometimes, maybe progress is respecting your own limits and saying, "Not today." 

Pero... ¿que piensan ustedes? ¿What do you think? :-)

Lose the self, find the Self.

So, I begin with a warning. There will be no pseudo-intellectual discoursing, no fun insights, no uplifting message in this post. If you want that, scroll down to some of my previous posts. :-)

There will, however, be some bitching.

Still with me? Good.

I've been feeling quite discouraged about my yoga practice lately. I mentioned a few weeks ago that I'd had to start a new medication. I've never had to take daily medication before, and the whole thing has thrown me for a loop. While it's awesome to know I'm not going to literally stroke out anytime soon, the side effects of the meds show up in the hot room. On a daily basis. Not so awesome.

When I started the meds and found myself sitting out four or five postures per class, I cultivated my inner cheerleader, who said kind things like, "it's all good--it's just a temporary setback. You are still doing yoga, you are still getting benefits, and this is an opportunity to improve!" That cheerleader did a great job for a while, but I think she got winded. Or maybe she got distracted by the captain of the football team. Whatever it is, I haven't heard from her lately.

There has been progress, but I admit to getting frustrated that it hasn't been unfolding in a perfectly forward motion. It's more like trying to swim beyond the waves--you make some progress, and a huge wave comes and knocks you back. Overall, you gain, but it is easy to lose yourself in the moments where you're being pushed backwards.

OK, I guess I have had an insight this week. I always strive to not compare myself to the other students. Usually, that's no problem. If I happen to fall out of a pose early and see Sarah executing the perfect Standing Bow, I think, "You go, girl. Rock out." No envy, just inspiration. But if I'm comparing myself now to myself two months ago, the ego is still getting the better of me. That lower-case "self" is still dictating how I should feel about myself. Really, it doesn't matter if I used to be able to do a class without skipping postures. Like Bikram says, what matters is that you give 110%. What matters is that you try the right way.

Despite the fact that I had to sit out a set of triangle, separate-leg-head-to-knee, and separate-leg-stretching, I know I was trying the right way, and trying 110%. Even amidst the churning emotional sea in my head, I had a sweet moment. During Standing Bow, one of my nemesis poses, I got into it really deeply. And there the posture was: kicking leg perfectly in line with the standing leg, body down, stretching forward like there was no tomorrow. Maybe my inner cheerleader did revive herself for a couple of seconds, 'cause I heard someone go, "Wow. That is beautiful." Grateful for the signs of progress, wherever they crop up.

Ahh, feels good to complain a little. I guess I am hesitant to appear like I'm being too whiny--too much complaining and I feel a little self-indulgent. Plus, when you write something down, it becomes permanent and empowered. I don't want to empower the bad stuff :-) But we all struggle the same way. Without sharing our struggles, how can we connect deeply to others? Our endeavors bind us, even as they humble us and seem to hold us back.

On another note, my studio owner kindly offered a free kids' class today, and I brought my eight year-old cousin. To my surprise, it was taught by current national champion Joseph Encinia. My cousin and I had such a great time. Joseph demo'd his signature poses before we started to inspire us all. He also talked briefly about his health issues and how yoga helped heal him. Best of all, at the end of class, he had each of the kids come up and demo their favorite pose. What a great move.

I don't typically talk about my teachers, but Joseph is so well-known in the Bikram community I just had to mention his class. Most Bikramites have seen videos of him practicing, so y'all know how glorious his postures are. But he has the biggest, most humble, and now very healthy heart, and he just shines as he's teaching. I feel very fortunate to be able to practice with him!