As I near the sixth month anniversary of taking up yoga, I take a look back to how it all started.
When people would say that yoga isn’t exercise, I would agree. Moving slowly isn’t exactly hard work.
But that was before I took it up.
At the beginning of second year, I decided to include some sort of exercise into my lifestyle. Whether that was going to the gym or attending classes, it really didn’t matter. I was dying to do something other than press 'Next Episode' on Netflix and call it a day.
It all began at the Fresher’s Fayre – and yes, second years can go too – when I was approached (ambushed) by an overly enthusiastic gym team. And it must have been something to do with the heat wave at the time, because I found myself signing up to all of their classes on the spot – I find myself more open-minded in the summer.
Yoga was one of the classes the gym ran and, despite associating yoga with middle-aged mums, I attended the first class. But not without dragging my ever so protesting friend along.
Don’t get me wrong, I understood all the health benefits of yoga. I was excited to regain some of that flexibility that I lost at 12 years old, when I quit gymnastics – only having the ability of the splits and a questionable headstand – but I was worried about how advanced the class would be.
Walking into the yoga studio was nerve-wracking, it was all candles, soothing music and well… yoga. But appearances are deceiving. Surprisingly enough, most of the class consisted of students who were also new. As we settled into the session, it was comforting to hear the bang of someone hit the floor after losing their balance. It was nice to know I wasn’t the worst in the room.
The biggest challenge wasn’t the stretches or even the positions, it was the fact I came to the session with my friend. One glance at each other sent us into stifled laughs. There wasn’t even anything worth laughing at…
It was definitely an atmosphere to get used to, but leaving the yoga studio after that first session, I could already recognise how relaxed I felt.
So, maybe it was the hour of peacefulness we got outside of student housing that drew us in, but whatever it was, week after week we kept showing up.
After a few sessions, I realised how much discipline yoga actually takes. This realisation hit me after the first time I face-planted the floor when my lack of upper-body strength betrayed me in whatever position I had contorted myself into.
But it was more than that, because even six months later, I notice myself getting increasingly stronger. And even better, I don’t feel as if I have the back of an eighty-year-old woman anymore.
Sometimes I don’t connect with some parts of yoga, like thanking the air we breathe or being told to let my feet ‘feel’ the ground – whilst also wondering what they’ve been doing for the past twenty years. But now, when my instructor tells me to take a vinyasa (yoga motion), the movements just flow.
But there was still one reality that I hadn’t prepared myself for: moving slowly hurts.
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