A Certain Kind Of Love Story

In four weeks I am
going to India to train as a yoga teacher.

(Life seldom takes the
turns you thought it might, huh?)

I don’t know where to
begin in explaining. Because it’s not just this one thing that makes this feel
like something I don’t so much want to
do as have to do. I feel like I was always going to end up signing up for a
200-hour yoga teacher certification. That’s for so many reasons. I suppose it
always is.

It’s January 2014,
when I started my journey to get strong and sexy, losing all that weight and
learning how to respect my body. That was the beginning of a revelation.
Self-love.

It’s exactly 13 months
ago, where, to stretch out the tight body that training for my first 10k race
made, I committed to a weekly yoga class to see if that might help loosen me up
a little. It loosened me up a lot – and I’m not just talking about my legs.

It’s how that weekly
yoga session became two, sometimes three, times a week – until even when I
wasn’t running I’d go, because holy shit, man. It felt good. 

It’s being terrified
of the tanned, lithe, bendy yogis here in Bali. Choosing the smaller studio in
town because the big fancy one intimidated me. Starting in the baby class.
Wondering what it might be like to go to the “grown-ups” class that started
after my beginner’s. Building my strength, and my courage. Getting up at 6.30 a.m. every damned day, because when I
didn’t I felt like I’d cheated myself. Realising that I was, in fact, kinda in
love.

A lot in love.

Obsessed.

Really willing to put
in the time with it.

This past three months
I’ve done yoga almost every day. I’ve experimented with different styles,
different flows, different teachers. But one thing has remained the same: yoga
demands that I show up – mind, body, soul, spirit. Heart. That’s the key, for me. When
I was running, I could “check out”. Think about something else – what was for
tea, how to respond to his text, what blog post I might write next – as long as
my body did the work I could meditate on something else.

In yoga, not so.

Yoga isn’t about fancy
poses. It’s about breath. It all comes back to breath. And if you are mindful
of your breath, aware, then your whole self is there. In that way, yoga is like
sex. The pose is the climax, and everything before that is foreplay. The best
sex is when you are totally present, totally there in the moment and leaning in
to exactly what feels good. Yoga is the same. You breathe, slowly,
purposefully, deliberately, in every part of the sequence. It all counts.
Moving your arms, curling your back, lowering to the mat, lifting up, opening
your chest. It’s yes, like that, yes,
just like that, consciously, deliciously, until you’ve built up enough heat
in your body to reach, with that breath, into the final asana. The climax.

And, just like in sex,
none of that works if you’re not loving with yourself. Whoever orgasmed from
telling her naked self, “Wow, you’re some
piece of shit, sister”? Yoga doesn’t work if my inner monologue is, what the fuck? You’re crap at this. You’re
too fat/gross/stupid/whatever. Why are you even trying? You’ll never be good.

There is no “good” in
yoga! It all counts! It’s all meaningful as long as you care! Because yoga
isn’t even just about the physical – that’s just one part of it!!!!!

… Just like sex.

For ninety minutes at
a time, my internal monologue is oh yes,
baby. That feels good. Uh-huh. Do that a little more. Okay, no, not like that,
maybe, that’s too much, but that gentle bit? Mmmmm yeah. God you’re great. This
feels great. You can do more of that bit, uh-huh. Good job on doing this. This
is love. You are love.

I am love.

Seldom do I commit to
things. Writing is my longest relationship. So many things catch my attention,
but it’s rare that I sustain my interest.

(I long ago gave up on
berating myself for that.)

But yoga. She’s
special. I wanna go steady with yoga. I want to go deeper, explore more, be
intense for the sake of being intense. I don’t think I want to be a yoga
teacher. Maybe I do. I don't know. Really, I’m doing this to truly get to grips with my practice. To get
up at 5 a.m. every day for a month to meditate for four hours, to breathe better, to eat vegan for a bit, to be even more
loving with myself – and maybe see if I can find ways to teach others how
to be more loving to their selves, too, in whatever way that comes up. I'm about to learn more than how to tell them how to downward dog, of that I'm sure.

I said I’m doing this
for so very many reasons, but really, it’s just one: This feels important.

I’ve tried to put
words to that, but mostly? I just have this feeling.

----------

Want to say something about this post? Talk to me!

Twitter. Facebook. Email. Instagram. Bloglovin'.

Signing up to my Monday newsletter makes you fresher than me. Enter your details here.