“Ting” went the celebratory champagne glasses as we toasted
the fast approach of 2009. The New Year was only seconds away and the clock was
ticking. Chocolate covered strawberry carcasses lay on their plates and the
last of the bubbly was now waiting to be swallowed from our flutes.
Aaahhh. A New Year. A time for renewal, cleansing, and heart
felt resolutions. This year will be different from all the rest.
I promise to change the oil in my car before the little
sticker says I should.
I promise to do more crunches, turn off the TV, and floss
even if nothing is stuck.
I promise to save money, be a better aunt, respect my
mother, go to bed earlier and stop avoiding my friend who shall remain
nameless, even though she’s the one who has been ignoring me, who never called
me on my birthday and took me off her Top 8.
And last but not least, I promise to finally try Yoga.
Yoga. What is it about that word that instills me with such
paralysis? I mean, how hard could it be? A few stretches, a little breathing,
deep thoughts, some possible farts leaking out of the hairy guy in front of you
during class….No big deal, right?
But then again, what if it was ME who farted??? I would never
be able to show my face in class again.
Never. Besides, what if I suck? If I’m not as flexible as everyone else
in class? Sure, I’m in good shape and can crank out an hour of cardio and leg
lifts in my sleep. And I’m open-minded! I can do this. I can. I can. I think I
can.
But yet, I have that brand new purple yoga mat I purchased
months ago still sitting in its wrapper in my car. It leers at me when I go in
and out of the gym. Hissing at me like a little purple Casper ghost saying
“Wwwwwoooohhhhh, whyyyyy so scaaarrrrrreeeeddddd?? The big bad yogaaaaaaaa is going to
ggrrrooowwwlll aaaatt yooouuuu??”
I now reach into my backpack full of excuses. You see, it’s
nearing tax time. Taxes. One of life’s after school bullies. Just when you
think you’ve learned all the rules and planned accordingly, WHAM—you owe. Then
there’s work. It’s so stressful. But I have to work to pay my taxes. If I can’t
pay my taxes I can’t sleep, and if I don’t sleep I sit hunched at my desk all
day. If I’m hunched at my desk all day
my back hurts. The pain worries me and I become more stressed. I’m so stressed
by my work that my back pain worsens and I need to hurry up and get to the gym
for some relief. The traffic is so terrible that I panic while driving to the
place I’m supposed to go and get relaxed. I get to the gym and the bike I
wanted to ride is taken. I forgot my
ipod, and my back still hurts. I guess I’ll just do the stairmaster. I am so
not relaxed.
I see the dark room to my left. I hear nothing and see only
dark forms, which I assume are bodies on their mats. I look to my right and I
see bouncing high strung bodies on cardio machines, TV’s blaring, bad remixes
thumping on the loud speakers, cars whizzing by in the windows before us facing
Ventura Boulevard. And again, I look to my left. I see Peace.
“And why am I not in there?” I ask myself. The answer
is simple. Fear.
Five, four, three, two, one: “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” is bellowed
by surrounding partygoers. Kisses are exchanged and some people are dancing. I
realize I have been lost in what-if thoughts of 2009 and all the promises I
planned on breaking by tax time.
And then I remember that room to my left…quiet and dark yet
filled with relaxed participants. I shrug my shoulders, raise my glass and make
a personal toast to abandon all resolutions except for one this year. I WILL
TRY YOGA. I will see what all this
centeredness and breathing is about. I will face the Purple Casper in my car,
unravel him from his wrapper and together we’ll face the fear. And who knows,
we just might like it.
And yes, I will try again even if it’s me who farts in
class.
CW
Copyright © 2012 Cave Woman Yoga All Rights Reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment