THE GIMMICK OF YOGA

Recently, Yoga Journal did a highlight on Kaiut Yoga. I started to flip right past the article, but the word ‘chiropractic’ caught my eye and I decided to give it a read. Kaiut yoga is almost identical to the style of yoga I was trained in, Samatva yoga. The practice consists of three distinct sections, a warm up, a main practice sequence and a closing sequence. The main practice sequence centers around poses that your body needs in that moment. It focuses on the parts of the body that are tight and lack free movement. Instead of contorting the body to fit into the pose, you make the pose fit the body. Which is also one of the main elements to Samatva yoga. The idea of Samatva yoga is that your practice is a balance to our daily lives. It is way to lesson the damage we do to ourselves with our usual daily activities, like sitting at a computer or microscope all day. Another aspect important in Samatva yoga is a twenty minute savasana (final relaxation) and just the other day there was an article about the benefits of a twenty minute savasana in the New York Times.

I moved into a very vinyasa/Ashtanga like yoga community. The studios I approached for teaching jobs mostly just dismissed me when I told them about Samatva yoga. I remember telling one studio owner about always ending my class with a fifteen to twenty minute savasana and she laughed at me. She couldn’t believe I would only spend about half an hour with the asana practice before moving on to final relaxation. I believe her words were “that’s a bit excessive.” I have had yoga teachers attempt to manipulate me into a yoga pose that is not right for my body. Every time I tried to explain that I don’t do poses where I don’t have joint on joint alignment, they would frown and walk away. I would be left alone with an inner commentary about how they think I can’t do a headstand and I’m using my wonky arms as an excuse. I’d have a whole conversation in my head about how I can totally do a headstand, but I don’t want to have achy elbows for the next three days because in order to have ‘proper’ alignment, I have to hyper-extend by elbows. It would make me feel wrong. I would question myself and think maybe I am just making excuses. Maybe I don’t do handstands because I’m weak. The dismissals and the self doubt played a big part in why I never really pushed to be part of the yoga community here. I have a couple of teachers I will work with. They know me; they know my background. Both of them know how to challenge me in my practice without asking me to compromise my safety. I miss their faces right now, but I have hopes for the Spring and Summer.

Yoga is no different than any other group exercise or sport. There is an undercurrent of focus on being the ‘right’ shape. B.K.S. Iyengar, a legend in the yoga community, was notorious for his focus on the right body shape. I heard a fellow yoga teacher tell a story about meeting Iyengar at a conference. Iyengar had given a talk then afterward there was a reception line where he greeted people in the audience. When the yoga teacher got his turn with Iyengar, he told Iyengar how much he admired him and that he himself had been practicing Iyengar’s style of yoga for years. Iyengar looked the man up and down and then patted the man on the belly as he said “It looks like you still have a lot of work to do.” All of us listening to him tell the story, gasped in shock, but this was quintessential Iyengar. You have to understand, Iyengar is more than a legend in the yoga community. He is considered to be one of the foremost yoga teachers in the world. His style of teaching inspired much of the styles of yoga we see here in the US. The teaching is that you make your body fit the pose and with today’s American ego this gets pushed to the extreme. The practice becomes all about perfection and sometimes even competition.

That is not true yoga.

There’s been a big shift in the last year to make yoga more inclusive. Well, of course. We’re seeing this everywhere, but Yoga Journal has been really pushing it in their magazines this year. There have been models of all race and genders appearing on the cover. They have featured yogis with disabilities, yogis of all ages and sizes. Still…I can’t help but think this a little bit of a too little too late situation. It feels like an attempt to jump on a bandwagon and I can’t help but feel a little bit sour over it. I also can’t help but feel slightly resentful. I received my training in teaching a balanced yoga practice eleven years ago and Yoga Journal is just now starting to feature my kind of practice. Yoga’s inclusion problem is deep and it is going to require more than just hanging a sign that reads “Everyone is welcome!” to fix it. This inclusion problem is going to require many current yoga teachers to open their minds real wide and maybe be a little less dismissive to alternative ways of teaching.

WHERE'D YOU GO

Intersect

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Three days after we got back from Boston, I had to have blood work done for my new doctor in order to renew my medication for triglycerides. That was some really poor planning after a week of eating lobster rolls and fried clams and steamed clams and pasta (Boston has a large Italian community with lots of homemade pasta shops). One day, just on this one day, I had a salad for lunch…topped with seared sea scallops. My dinner one night was literally a giant bowl of clams cooked in a hot bean curd sauce. No vegetable. Not even rice. Just clams. The only fruit to enter my body during those seven days was the pound of grapes I ate on our picnic. I also have not taken my triglyceride medication since May, when the prescription ran out. This happened right after my doctor retired and I had to find a new doctor. So really, I should not have been so surprised when my new doctor called me the day after my bloodwork to tell me she wanted to put me on Lipitor.

Like an old man.

She did suggest that losing some weight might help me get off Lipitor. We talked about what I’m currently doing and she said “you just need to walk more steps and maybe lay off dairy.” Easy peasy. Just walk a few more steps. That fat will just fall right on off you. Well you can imagine what this news did for my mental health. I was pretty pouty and weepy for a few days. Then I buckled down, took cheese off the menu and added more broccoli to my diet. I eat less food at dinner time and go to bed a teensy bit hungry. I combined my inside walk loop with my outside walk loop and I always take the stairs. This week I decided to swap out my Tuesday/Thursday bicycle time with weight training. So now I’m hungry and sore, but I’ve lost about two pounds in just as many weeks, so that’s better than nothing.

All of this focus on diet and exercise and trying not to obsess but still kind of obsessing has zapped my creative energy something fierce. I have Boston pictures to edit and I need to compile a list of what pictures I want to print, what size to print, and set up a budget sheet of costs for printing and framing. I really should start pulling photos for that book idea. Michael is picking up the Cabbage on Friday and then they’re going to spend the weekend with his moms. This would be an ideal time for me to do all of the above. Instead I’m thinking about making a trip to the Farmer’s Market for crates of tomatoes and deep cleaning the house while I roast those tomatoes. I also have been craving black-eyed-peas and okra, both of which are great disappointments when cooked from frozen. I bet I can get both of those things there and if I’m willing to pay a bit extra, I can get those peas already shelled. There’s an exhibit at the Nelson that I’ve been meaning to visit. This is the last weekend for it and I’d feel really bad for missing it. There’s no excuse for missing it. I’m a museum member and it costs me nothing. A weekend to myself is a gift I just don’t know what to do with. There are so many possibilities that it’s almost paralyzing. Isn’t that just the way? I asked for this and now that I have it, I’m at a loss of what to do with it. I think that I can probably do all of the above and maybe even throw in a foot spa visit.

I’m going to pat myself on the back right now for typing that last sentence and showing some ambition.

UNDER

Saturday

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January first most people jump into a workout/diet routine in an attempt to start the New Year off right. I buy new underwear. Usually. This year I’ve been dragging my feet a little on this because I used to buy my underwear from Victoria Secret. I don’t really feel comfortable supporting that company any more, but here’s the thing. I know what sizes to buy at Victoria Secret. You would think those sizes are universal. Nope, they are not because that would make sense. So this left me staring at the wall of underwear in Target with no clue of what to get or what size was the right size. Then the Cabbage said “why don’t you take one of them out of the box and try them on over your pants.” And for some reason I thought “hey, that’s not a bad idea.” So I did and I was all “okay, these size sevens fit.” and I tossed a package of four into our cart. Then I walked over to the bra section where I squished and felt every bra looking for something soft with some padding, but not too much padding. Michael pulled out one and said “what about this one?” It had wide side panels that reminded me of an ace bandage, which I commented on. Then Michael said “It’s supposed to hold in your side flab.” Then I punched him in the face.

Not really.

I’m doing my best to believe that he doesn’t really think I need something to ‘hold in my side flab’ except it isn’t the first time he’s mentioned my side flab in that last two weeks.

The most discouraging and depressing part of this experience was the overwhelming selection of underwear advertised to hold in your rolls. Any and all of them. Back rolls, hip rolls, belly rolls. Women are not supposed to have any illusion of rolls. We have to smash ourselves into shape wear that promises to give us a universal slim shape so that we all have the body of the mannequin in the store front window. Women have been raised on the idea that their rolls are ugly and shameful. I felt like maybe instead of underwear shopping, I too should be jumping into a workout/diet routine. Then I got mad because the double standard is ridiculous. Where is the shape wear for men? Why isn’t there a wall of under garments in Target devoted to smashing the dad gut? Where’s the section for man bras? Why doesn’t society dictate that men have a ‘smooth silhouette’?

I wear a padded bra, not because I want to give off the illusion of having larger boobs, but solely so my nipples are not visibly poking through my shirt. I used to wear plain old t-shirt like bras that were soft and comfortable, but on one too many occasions ended up with my arms crossed over my chest after some guy pointedly stared at my chest while saying “Cindy must be cold.” When Michael wears padded underwear it’s for comfort while riding his bicycle, not because some woman might point at his crotch and say something about the weather. A friend of mine recently posted about how tired she was of wearing a bra everyday and she only wears one now because men would stare at her. Dear Men, in case you were under the impression that women wore bras for the sole purpose of support, you are wrong. We wear them so you won’t blatantly stare at our boobs. Except, bra or no bra you still do it because bras are no longer designed for just support. They’re designed to lift and enhance and give cleavage. They are designed to encourage men to stare at our boobs. It’s a Catch 22.

I’ve waisted years of my life wiggling into shape defining pantyhose. I wore oversized t-shirts and refused to tuck a shirt into anything in order to keep my belly covered. I also spent a many a meal, carefully pushing food to the side of my plate to make it look like I ate it. As if that one bite of mashed potatoes was going to keep me from acquiring that so called perfect silhouette. It has taken me so many years to learn to love my Buddha belly, to be proud of my hips, to not be ashamed of this body. For the longest time, I felt like I couldn’t even walk around my own house without a bra on because what if I had to answer the door? Fuck that. That’s all bullshit and this is my year to get rid of the bullshit. I have rolls. I have had rolls since the day I was finally big enough to come home from the hospital as a baby. I eat healthy. I do thirty to forty minutes of cardio five days a week. I get on my yoga mat for an hour or more five to six days a week. You want to talk about my side flab? Let’s talk about my side plank instead and how strong and beautiful it is when I hold that pose. Shape that.

I will say, though, that I am now the proud owner of four pairs of underwear that fit well above my belly button and are saggy in the butt because one probably should not take sizing advice from an eight year old.

THE STATE OF THIS BODY

Do I need to go on a diet?

"Do I need to go on a diet?"

I had my yearly women's health exam the other day and no, I still haven't made an appointment to follow up on my cholesterol. I did get the regular blood pressure/height/ weight vitals and all of those except one looked good except one. I bet you can guess which one made me cringe a whole lot. Let me tell just how dumb it is that I am slightly depressed about my weight. I now weigh what I did when I was with Chris. Exactly. When I reached a hundred and seventy five pounds after being one ninety, one eighty, I thought this was the smallest I would ever be and I was happy. I was content with that weight. I was even comfortable in that weight. I felt good about myself. Now I go to put on a pair of jeans and the either won't button at all or they are tight and uncomfortable and I get mad because those jeans were not cheap. 

I've taken to wearing pants I can do yoga in all the time. In fact, I was in Target the other day looking at pants and the first thing I asked myself was "Does it have an elastic waste band?" The second thing I asked myself was "Can I do you yoga in them?" The answer to both of those seemed like a yes, so I bought the pants without trying them on. They're wide legged pants made of a light denim. I tried them on when I got home. Then I realized I'd just bought the most unflattering pair of pants for my body. I said "fuck it!" and put on a flowing top, which just made me look like a beach ball. I don't care because I got on my mat and they were very comfortable while running though all the sun salutations. 

Which brings me to my next point or tangent or gripe. I'm not sitting around like a lump all day. I've been wearing this Up band, tracking my steps and sleep and sometimes even my food, for over a year now. The goal is ten thousand steps and for the most part I crush that goal with over twelve thousand steps a day. I am on my yoga mat daily and I even push myself to do things like forearm plank for a whole sixty seconds at a time. I do four of those at least! I can walk up four flights of stairs without wheezing or something on my body hurting. I don't know about five because I never have a need to go up to the fifth floor. The point is, this body is fit. It's strong. It can bend itself into a pretzel. There is nothing wrong with this body. Except for the ten extra pounds of fat centered around my belly button. 

When I told Michael about my weight, he said it's because I'm no longer single. "What? You want to go back to eating like you did when you were single?" He's under the impression that all I ever ate for dinner where sleeves of crackers, which isn't true. I cooked evening meals for myself so I'd at least have a healthy lunch the next day. Really, that hasn't changed. The only difference I can see between eating when I was single and now is that I probably eat more than two meals on Saturday and Sundays. I don't understand how not being single means adding ten pounds to my body. Maybe I'm just fooling myself into thinking that I should be any smaller. Maybe it's time to let go of the things in my closet that are too small and just accept that this is the size I am. I was happy there at one point in my life. The whole "I was happy" part sort of echoes in my brain. Then, because I am my own worst critic, I call myself a loser for giving up. I fit in those clothes once! By golly, I can fit my ass into them again. And if I toss them and go up a size, what's stopping me from going up another size and another? What if I finally manage to get it all under control and I tossed all my size smaller pants? Then I have to go buy more pants. it is the dumbest slippery slope. 

I hate pants and I'm just about over this Upband tracking device. 

FAT

I have two dresses sitting in my closet that I haven't worn in probably two years. Yes, I realize that this qualifies them for the donation pile, but they're really nice dresses and you never know when you're going to need to dress up for a wedding or a funeral or both. I tried one of these dresses on the other day because I thought maybe I'd wear it to a wedding at the end of February. I got the dress over my head, but there was no way I was going to get it zipped up the side. Then I had one of those panicky, I'm going to rip this dress, moments as I struggled to pull it back over my head. An inch. An inch and a half. That's what's gotta go from this body in order to zip that dress up. The thrill and pride of losing five pounds just flew right out the window.  

Here's what's ridiculous. I am right around the same size I was the last year I was with Chris (or Chris was with me, take your pick). At that time I was the skinniest I had ever been in my whole life. I knew that I would never be thinner and I was so happy and amazed that I was as thin as I was. I was thrilled to be the size I am now. I was happy, healthy and content with that body. Then Chris died and I lost about ten pounds. I lost ten pounds which I thought I couldn't lose. I mean if anything, I should have weighed more. Grief is so damn heavy. Grief should at least weigh twenty pounds. No, as it turns out it doesn't. Grief is light as a feather. Or at least light as pebble. 

I've been watching Awkward while I walk on the treadmill. I switch back and forth really between Awkward and Girls and the latest Downton Abby. There's a character in Awkward named Sadie. She's horrible and cruel. In season one she explains herself by crying to her mother "what do you expect? I'm surrounded by skinny petite girls while I have to write down every thing I eat and buy things from the special fat girls store." Sadie is a big girl. That's her excuse for being so mean. I hate this. When I look at Sadie, I see a perfectly normal girl. She's active, has won all kinds of horse riding awards and is on the cheerleading squad. Her character infuriates me. She really wants for nothing other than to be a size zero. This is a show that is meant for teenage girls. 

Counter this with Girls. They make no excuses for their weight. Laura Dunham's character, Hannah, admits to hating her body, but wears and doesn't wear clothes with a bold confidence that, frankly, I am jealous of. The show portrays girls with real bodies. Honestly, watching the show, I can see how their weight is the least of these girls worries. Figuring out what the Hell they're going to do to pay the bills is enough. I have mixed feelings about the show in general, but I will applaud the genuine female bodies.  In one episode you hear Hannah say that she finds her body disgusting and in the next episode she agrees that she is beautiful. That is the way. We all do it. One day we're disgusting, the next we're beautiful. 

I've wracked my brain trying to examine what it is exactly I'm doing differently now versus then. I no longer skip meals on weekends. Friday night dinners have gone from a bottle of wine and a sleeve of crackers to an actual meal. Usually pizza. I've added one and half people to my life. Turns out love weighs more than grief. I can go back to skipping meals on weekends. I can continue walking my 10,000 or more steps a day. I can continue to get on my mat and eat my kale. By the end of February, I just might be able to zip that zipper. Worse comes to worse, I buy a new dress and finally decide to put those others in the donation pile. 

I took a picture of myself once. It was during my first year into the whole 365 day project thing. It's a boudoir type photo. I'm naked, lying in bed with my legs up the wall. It's a tastefully sexy photo, taken when I was not even close to my second thinnest moment. I was just learning the art of liking myself. I remember being so proud of that photo. Where has that girl gone? I'm not sure, but I think I'm going to work real hard and bringing her back.