Going to the Mat

This week I took my first yoga class, and it kicked my butt.

I admit, after a lifetime of physical sports – crashing into others, slamming on the ground, or grunting while pushing mediocre weights into the air – yoga is humbling. Instead, here I was standing on one foot, bending and trying not to fall over into the next person. I felt like I was in some weird game of drunken Twister.

Earlier this week, my wife and I ran into a friend, and he invited us to his weekly yoga class. Our friend also happens to be a yoga-master-type (and possibly literally). He’s tall, lean, and speaks with a warm, comfortable sound. You cannot picture him without a smile on his face.

And so it was my wife wrote the word “yoga” on the paper calendar on the refrigerator – you know the one, the all-powerful document that makes commitments official.

I’ve spent the better part of a half-century on skateboards, mountain bikes, and surfboards. How hard could this be, I wondered.

Well, I did a faceplant-level performance.

Yoga, I learned, is not about physical exertion, but rather controlling your body and creating a quiet inside your mind.

“Your body always wants to be moving,” the instructor said. “This is why we find it so hard to sit still for any length of time. Part of yoga is about learning to control our instincts.”

Hearing that, I’m surprised my mom didn’t enroll me in yoga as a kid – sitting still was always a point of contention. Even my report cards wondered what was my deal.

For the next 45 minutes, I made a complete fool of myself, falling over, emitting groans, and trying not to call attention to myself. The wall became my friend.

First off, I apparently have been breathing wrong my entire adult life.

“Your body wants to breathe deeply, your stomach filling with air,” he said. “Breathing with your chest only is a learned practice.”

For the next few moments, I tried to make my body unlearn how to breathe – allowing my belly to swell out with each deep breath. After about five attempts, my body filled with so much oxygen I became lightheaded.

Then he asked us to stand in a slew of different positions or poses. Arms up, arms down. Legs extended, bring them back. Add in my oxygen-rich brain, and I looked like a one-legged stork in a hurricane.

Understand, I was humbled and felt a tremendous level of respect for what is truly more than an exercise, but rather an art form.

We finished with our eyes closed, focusing on breathing and a soothing chanting of a mantra. The sound of tiny bells chimed to draw us back to the reality of foam rubber mats and bare feet.

Here is what I did not expect: I am totally bit. With the stretching, bending, balancing – and new way of breathing – yoga is as challenging as anything I’ve ever attempted.

And I’m willing to go to the mat for that statement.

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