The Wall

The only thing I knew how to do was to keep on keepin’ on … ~ Tangled Up In Blue, Bob Dylan

Less from me and more from you!

These were the words of the yoga instructor as we moved through our Sun B’s while we jumped back and forth in our vinyasas. She was asking us to find our bandhas, or locks, and to look for our quiet landings.

I was looking for something else. I was looking for a way past a wall that had appeared in my practice. I was looking for the strength to tear it down.

I started getting annual physicals right before I found yoga. The doctor spoke with me about exercise and strength. Specifically, we talked about the strength of my bones.

She took one look at me and exclaimed, You must be careful!

Why? I asked.

Well, she answered, because you are small and white!

These are things I cannot change! But, apparently, people who are both small and white are more at risk for osteoporosis, or a weakening of the bones. I was sent for a scan and discovered that I was indeed teetering on the brink.

What was also discovered was my family’s now long-running joke about how small and white I am!

And I was left to wonder whether it’s ever possible to return from the brink, or if it’s just inevitable to one day hit a wall – the place where we are only what we think.

Maybe this is why I’ve yet to capture the lift when I jump forward or back, or why my arms sometimes shake after Fire Jumps. And what about Warrior III? My back still feels this pose when I think it shouldn’t. And don’t get me started on the handstands. Oh, the handstands!

The other day after class I was talking about this brink with a friend. He has lots of muscles and teaches something called Chiseled Yoga, a class that incorporates weights. We talked at length while he made several motions this way and that, demonstrating the curls and squats and lifts that he thought might help me in my practice.

And then he lowered his voice. And this, too, he said softly. And I watched as he jumped in place and came down hard, both feet landing at the same time, again and again. Women of a certain age, he whispered, need to jump 10 times a day like this. It’s good for their bones!

My bones! For months, I’d been lagging on my calcium regimen. I made a mental note to start them up again.

Days later, I was at another practice. This was Rocket yoga, a practice on which I count to build my strength. And it was a good practice, too, but still my wall wouldn’t budge. Afterward, I chatted with the instructor as I got ready to leave.

Something’s missing for me in there, I told her, pointing to the practice room from which we’d all just exited.

At one point, she had actually removed another wall for me. She had literally turned my back to it. That’s how I finally got my freestanding handstands and my freestanding Forearm Stands.

So I explained about this new wall. Surely, she had seen it, too.

Her answer was to remind me of how to deepen my practice. She encouraged me in my efforts to drop into a backbend from standing. And, most important, she spoke about the ever elusive bandhas that were causing me so much doubt.

You’ve got them, she said. You have the strength!

We made our way out of the studio, passing the newly painted wall adorned with the golden letters of a chant. She was several steps ahead when she looked back with one more thought.

You just wait, Anne, she said. Those drop backs are heart openers. Once you get those, your life is going to change. It’s already cracked open some.

I was surprised to hear her mention a wall I thought no one else could see. Did she really believe there wasn’t an end to whatever it is we could be? I have to say this was a revelation for me!

Days later, I was practicing again, and I was feeling good. The music was playing and the room was full and I was flowing. We hit the floor and moved into Forearm Plank.

The instructor encouraged us to hold ourselves there, to lift our hearts into our backs, to tighten our quads and press into our forearms.

Be honest! she said. Don’t wait to get stronger later. Get stronger now!

I held myself in the pose and felt a trickle of sweat roll down my forehead and over my nose. I tucked my chin and watched it drop to my mat with a splat.

And in that moment I realized something grand, that perhaps our strength is always at hand. I could see mine right there in that drop of sweat. It was the reason my mat was soaking wet!

And that was all it took for my wall to fall. And now I’m hoping it’s gone, once and for all.

And gone now, too, is the thought of a brink, because my plan is to keep on going. I want to plant my seeds and see what’s sowing!

So this is how I’ve turned a new leaf, which to me has been a huge relief. I’ve made the decision to continue to sweat, because I don’t want to be done just yet.

The practice is only a gift to explore. It’s an effort to feel what I’ve not felt before.

And so I’ll look for my bandhas all day long, because I know the attempt is what’s making me strong. And I’m going to keep on dropping back, because, apparently, I’ve already opened up a crack.

Muscles

Yoga is like a long car ride, and I feel like the kid in the back seat asking, "When are we gonna get there?"

I’m thinking I need some more muscles.

Not necessarily big ones, just more than I’ve got.

I remember when I started yoga, I stood in a studio with a group of women who had probably been working out most of their days.

It was day one for me.

Needless to say, it was pretty intimidating to keep coming back, but I did and it was a good thing. The practice has redefined me, literally.

Now I’ve got some muscles, and they've appeared in much the same way as with most things in yoga -- they kind of crept up on me. Seems like suddenly, there they were. One day, the mirror showed me muscles in my arms, my stomach, my legs, my back.

But the more I try to advance, the more I feel my limits. In one class in particular, I spend lots of time thinking if only I was stronger, I would get this.

This being the arm balances, the handstands, the staying on one side with the weight in one leg while doing all sorts of things before moving to the other side.

I mentioned lifting some weights to the instructor after class one day. I’m thinking I’m not strong enough, I said.

You can if you want, she replied, telling me that she did, too. But you are strong!

Then I admitted to feeling scrawny, and she suggested I email her to get rid of the crazies. But it’s the crazies that make me keep coming back. They are what make me want to go upside down, to lift myself up on my hands with my legs here and there.

I am learning that, as with most things in life, the strength has to come from the core.

The instructor talks about zipping it up and putting the belly button to the spine. She calls to us about our upward flying locks when we lift and balance and hang.

Still, in this class, I feel my edge -- the place where I know I need to add something to what I’m doing, so I can do more.

The other day, we were in Navasana, or Boat pose. Sitting on our tail bones, our bodies are in a V shape with our legs and backs straight and our feet in line with our noses. Our hands reach up.

We hold for a count of five.

Then, we cross, lock and lift – placing our hands down on either side, crossing our legs and lifting ourselves off the mat, swinging our feet underneath us. Ultimately, we are supposed to land in Handstand, swinging ourselves under and through and unfolding into the inversion.

We’re heading to Handstand here, the instructor says. It doesn’t matter if you’re there yet. Some of us will take another day or another month or another 10 years.

Huh?

No one really calls out in this class but, on hearing this, I stood up.

What? I blurted out. Do you know how old I’ll be in 10 years?!?

It doesn’t matter how old you are, the instructor replied. It matters how strong you are.

I have these little purple weights at home. They are eight pounds each. And I have some metal ones that are five pounds each. And some little red three pounders. Surely something can be done with them.

This yoga is called The Rocket. It’s from a branch of yoga called Ashtanga, a style where the student is given a sequence of poses, the progression through which has to be done in order. The student cannot move to the next pose unless the previous one is accomplished.

Rocket yoga came about in the 1980s, and it teaches some of these poses without having to satisfy any prerequisites. Bob Weir of the Grateful Dead dubbed it The Rocket because, in his words, You get there faster.

So, in this class, it often feels like day one again.

I am in there with those who have been there awhile. And like when I first started yoga, it can be quite intimidating but, like before, I keep coming back. And the progress is slow.

So my plan is to lift those purple weights, even though I think the key to my progression lies more in the strength of my core.

I am being instructed, like with anything else, to look inside to my very center.

Still, I kind of want to rocket through that part, too. I keep waiting to hear some kind of hint about how to better lift up. Surely, I might be missing some kind of clue.

But the only way to fly is to lock and lift. And there’s no shortcut to doing that. The strength in my core has to build in its own time.

So I keep practicing my lock and practicing my patience.

And hopefully, if I’m locked and lucky, I’ll be able to go back and through and upside down before the 10 year mark.

Anne is the author of  Unfold Your Mat, Unfold Yourself​ and is published on Huffington Post and Elephant Journal. Connect with Anne on her blog, Facebook and Twitter.​​