My Less Than Triumphant Return to Yoga

I decided to take up yoga again. Fifteen years ago I actually taught yoga, so I figured this whole experience of returning to it would be like riding a bike, that my body would naturally—with a few good breaths and patience—yield into the poses. A friend suggested a deep stretch hot yoga class in which the room is roasted to 105 degrees to encourage my muscles to relax and stretch. My muscles need encouragement, of that I was sure.

I was not prepared for the level of sweating. When I was in an inversion and sweating into my eyeballs, I realized that salt does indeed sting and that my stretching capacity is inversely related to my age.

But I showed up and I began something for myself that is good.

The second day went better. There was not the prolific sweating that defined the first day; however, when the instructor said something like “Be accepting of the body you’re in. Love yourself as you are,” my inner monologue said something like “FINE. I’m ok with my body, but honestly I wouldn’t be here it I was totally ok with it. Who is that person in the mirror? Do I always look this bad?”

The next day I decided to ramp it up and tried vinyasa, which is a kind of flowing yoga that packs in quite a workout. Picture balancing poses, inversions, sun salutations, and me panting like a rabid dog. About forty minutes in, I quietly exited, ostensibly to use the restroom, but what I did was collapse in a puddle and try to gauge the appropriate amount of time I could be gone before they called the paramedics.

To make matters worse, I had entered the room at the beginning of class like a gladiator entering the coliseum—armed with my $200 yoga mat tucked under my arm and brand-new yoga clothes—and had plunked myself down front and center.

I did finish the class, and as I was leaving, I heard a woman asking a friend where she had been that morning, that she’d missed her in the sunrise yoga class she taught. Sunrise yoga? She and I will never be friends. Twice a day yoga? Who has the time and flexibility for that? Show off.

The yoga had obviously not dimmed my hostility. But I am a work in progress and my yoga practice was off to a slow and dubious start.

The next two days were a blur. I think I passed out briefly.

On my sixth day, the yoga instructor made this appealing invitation: “I want to invite all of you to join me for paddleboard yoga. It’s so much fun. We do the poses on the paddleboard and if you lose balance and fall in you get a nice refreshing dip in the lake."

Let me just get this straight. I am going to put on a bathing suit, paddle out to the middle of a lake, balance precariously on a paddleboard, and then fall into the water, perhaps to my death because I’ll be too tired to get back onto the board. Oh, yes, I’m going to do that. No problem. Is your CPR certification up to date?

Day seven started well enough. I had every yoga accoutrement: mat, towel, water, mat carrier, block, and strap. Too bad I left my brain at home. I tried a new foundation that day and when it mixed with the extreme heat I started to itch. So, I was panting and scratching and trying very hard to relax into the poses as I scratched a little more.

However, I’m sticking with it. When I leave the studio, I feel calm, and I can see that in just a week I’ve made some improvements. Baby steps. But improvements, nonetheless. Also, I’m a little less hostile. A little.



Elisabeth Richardson loves yoga, dogs, travel, and reading; she is currently going through withdrawal because her only son is a freshman in college.