Old Woman with Her Butt in the Air = Dog Pose

I glanced in the mirror to see how I looked doing dog pose. Well, let's just say that Mariel Hemingway can keep her job as poster girl for yoga. But I felt like I was SO IN THE POSE. You know how you're walking down the street and you're thinking, wow, I look good today. You've got on your adorable, new brown sandals (they are brown in this scenario because I did just buy a cute, new, brown pair--picture to come), and you're wearing your skinny jeans and then, bam, you see yourself in the window of a building and you're kinda shocked because, when the heck did you get that old?? Or that fat?? And, then you want to run home? That ever happen to you?

After glancing at myself in the mirror at Cindy's studio--which, correct me if I'm wrong, but I swear the place is all mirrors--I wanted to crawl under a rock. I know Cindy, my yoga teacher, would say to thank my body for supporting me in the pose, heck, for supporting me period. She'd say to do the pose my body will do. That it isn't a competition, and so forth. She's fairly guru about the whole yoga thing--and I'm fairly North Carolina and Southern--but she is sincere, so I stay and try to focus, and try not think about how I look like an old woman with her butt in the air.

The rest of the class didn't go well. What'd you expect? I'm 52 this year and I am just not getting the hang of getting old.

Anyway, I drove home determined never to do yoga again, never to go to a yoga class again, and to become an old lady who lives in her garden clothes and never cleans the dirt out from under her fingernails (okay so that is actually me already--I was going to embrace me, how's that?).

But then my dog, Platypus (Platy for short) got up to greet me, doing his dog pose first to get the kinks out. I watched him stretching his front paws out, his butt up in the air, and he looked so happy, and because he's two feet tall and four feet long, his dog pose is a looooonnnnngggg pose.

So, I kicked off my new brown sandals and did dog pose on my kitchen porch. Here's what I have to say about dog pose when you're not glancing in a mirror to see if you're Mariel Hemingway's new buddy, DANG I LOVE DOG POSE. It feels so darn good. I pushed up through my arms, stretching my back upward--really getting my butt up there--standing on my tip toes and then, when I had stretched up as far as I could go, I put my heels down. It was amazing. I stayed there for almost five minutes playing with the pose while Platy ran under me, sniffed my nose, licked my ankles and generally went nuts because he wanted petting.

I told him, "Give me a minute Plat dog, I'm doing dog pose, buddy."

I know if I had glanced in a mirror again I would have seen an old lady with her butt up in the air, but finally, I didn't care. My body was supporting me and I was treating it with care. I'm getting a little weepy thinking about it so I'll end here.

How do Camels Breath?

Cindy, my yoga teacher, teaches a kind of yoga called Iyengar. She has also written a book entitled Yoga Your Way, which I use when I'm not at her studio in Asheville (yes, the guru town of Asheville, NC, of which I am the lone native). Her teaching and book are modeled on the method of some famous dude in India (B.K.S. Iyengar) who perfected this format. Cindy goes to the Iyengar Institute in India frequently to study. I am seriously envious because I generally get no farther than the grocery store. Books, no matter the type, tell us as much about the author as the subject. Humans have a fascination with each other's stories and so I skim around the edges of all those descriptions and benefits of poses to see what I can discover about Cindy. Her life seems so exotic compared to mine, but I'm off topic here. Back to the next pose.

Today's pose, Camel Pose or Ustrasana, is a funky little back bend. When I was a girl in my parent's home, I watched TV from the position of a back bend on the living room floor. I marvel at how easy it was for me to pop up, wrists turned backward, feet pushing me higher and it felt so good. I remember how easy it was to breath after doing that. I don't do that now. I watch TV from my couch now.

Fortunately, Camel Pose does not require this complete back bend stance. I will be on my knees, hands reaching for my ankles, neck dropping completely back, literally hanging in mid-air, my spine coiled into my back, my chest open wide. The total time Cindy allows for this pose is thirty seconds. Thirty seconds, then come out of the pose (carefully) and then thirty seconds again. It is enough.

Cindy gives you reminders when you're in the pose. She instructs that while your body is bent backward and your arms are trembling with the weight, to press again into your lower legs and press your hands again into your heels, then lift your sternum higher. There is a reason for this. This action between my legs and my arms creates a sort of stronghold, a structure which supports me in the pose. Once supported I am freer to lift my sternum, coil my spine, and open my chest. I can work in the pose.

Here's what I discover in this pretty awkward position. I've got to breath to stay here. My breath comes rapidly at first. I'm afraid my arms are going to give out before my timer and I'll be in a heap soon. So, I breath. Breathing stablizes me. It slows down the panic, allows me to concentrate, to press my hands into my ankles, press my legs down and be strong again--for thirty seconds.

I have another friend, also named Cindy (must have been a popular name 50+ years ago), and she works in the medical field. She doesn't advise smoking, but she does advise doing what smokers do. "Smokers," she says, "take breaks to breath."

Camel Pose is a breathing pose. That's what I accomplished today, breathing.

Busted Big Toes

So, today, I'm pooped. Big wedding weekend. And still more to go. But, ever faithful me is going to do her yoga (well, I'm faithful in spirit if not in the flesh). I'm flipping through Cindy's book and pop! there is Padangusthasana or Big Toe Pose. Highly apporpriate since my big toe is currently, absolutely killing me. I stubbed it on, of all things, a pillow. One of those big study pillows that were popular in college dorms in the late 70's. Of course, I still have mine (book nerd to the end), and it stays on the floor beside my bed when I'm asleep. Hence the stubbed toe in the middle of the night. Throbbing, I say, and I am going to be in heels for most of the day wearing my new, watermelon-red dress. Very classy sheath and with pockets. Which is too cute. The trend is these dressy-dresses with pockets; perfect if you forget the pedicure.

The first thing I notice is how detailed Cindy's description is of what appears to be nothing more than me in a standing position, reaching down, grabbing my sore toe and the other healthy toe, and holding onto them while concaving my back, elbows out and stretching my quads and hamstrings.

Going into and out of the pose, I discover, is as important as the pose itself. Cindy gives as much print to preparing and coming out of the pose as she does the actual pose. Okay. That means I didn't give myself enough time. Note to self--if I am going to do the poses properly, allow more time.

I rearrange my schedule a little (yes, five minute increments actually exist in my life, embarassingly enough) and do Big Toe Pose.

Guess what? My back loves this pose. I mean, I'm actually happy doing this. My legs are trembling as I push my upper thighs backward while pulling my pelvic region forward but my back is estatic. I'm not exaggerating. Lesson two. Lean over more. Stretching ourselves doens't always have to hurt.

So off to the wedding I hoppingly go.