Healthy Thursday

In January, I wrote a blog called Reality Yoga, lamenting that the pleasant, but factual, 35ish year old instructor, kindly pointed out (aloud but with yoga voice) that I should take it at my own pace. “Yoga is not about winning. We do not want injury to show that you are able to do exactly the same moves as everyone else in the room.” 

I wanted to yell out: “I am not new to this world. I worked as a certified personal trainer. I know how this works. I used to say the same things to my ‘older’ clients.”

But that would have only made me look (and sound) my age. One of many life lessons that 60 year-olds learn.

So I smiled and nodded and pushed myself harder than she recommended. 

And I kept going, week after week. 

One would think that at age 60, it would not be a monumental task to get to an hour long yoga class once a week. The class is offered twice a week but let’s not get crazy.

I am still working part-time as a writer for a magazine. I help care for my dear mama. Married to a busy physician, I am in charge of the care and feeding of our home, literally and figuratively. I also have one son living at home, finishing up college, and another one, who has been back home for about a month as he transitions to another job in possibly another city. It’s all good, but busy. 

This morning when I walked into the yoga room there was a sign on the door stating “Yoga is pool-side this morning.”

I grabbed a rolled-up mat from the large cubby and headed out, hoping very much that we were not in the sun since I had failed to apply sunscreen. At last minute, though, I did grab my summer-white, large framed sunglasses.

As I walked toward the pool, I was glad to see a striped canvas-covering where women were gathering. My instructor said: “Oh, it’s you, Rebecca. When I saw you walking over here, I thought there was a celebrity taking my class this morning.” Ding-ding-ding!!! Yes.

I am feeling so much better about yoga. I am learning the names and the movements and am now often able to anticipate the next step. 

And a small victory, in class today, my instructor (aloud but with yoga voice) said to one of the ‘newbies’, “See what Rebecca is doing, that is the correct form”. Again, yes!

I’m certainly not able to perform the full-thrust of what some of the thirty-somethings are able to do. I cannot ‘flip my dog’ and may never get there, which is so very okay.

As are most new paths that we choose, yoga has been a lesson in persistence and discipline. And as Nicole (yoginī girl) said back in January, the first time I attended, “Go at your own pace. This is about your own journey.” 

As the hour closes in, following shavasana, I am not bothered by the statement that ends every class as we put our thumb knuckles to our ‘third eye’ and together say ‘Namaste’, simply meaning ‘I bow to you’. This insinuates that learning and wisdom are exchanged among everyone in the room. It is a reverential and honoring salutation.

Namaste indeed. 

Author: Rebecca Hendrixson

Hello, I'm Rebecca. I am a wife and mother and freelance writer. I love to share honest thoughts, anecdotes, incidents and encouragement. I am documenting my one year of being 60 years old. Join me on the journey. And please leave comments or send me an email. I will respond. We are all in this together. Come be my comrade.

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