Want to sleep better and hate yourself less? I know that sounds like something you might read on the cover of a woman’s magazine in the checkout aisle, right next to a photo of the season’s biggest dessert fad. These magazines always appeal to me with bold claims to fitness and wellness. Nothing about yoga appealed to me. When I decided to check out a yoga class at my YMCA, I had no idea what it would come to mean to me.

You don’t have to know anything about yoga to try a class. I’m not going to tell you about yoga history or many health benefits (for just about whatever ails you), because I didn’t know them. I’m still learning. This blog entry contains the thoughts I pulled out of my journal from my first class.

My chest hurt. I didn’t have a yoga mat and even if I had one I didn’t understand where I was supposed to put it. I had entered the room for my first class 5 minutes before it was to start and felt like I was late. Middle-aged women sat stretching on mats that they seemed to have placed quite randomly in a large room with mirrors lining three walls. The fourth, non-mirrored wall was behind me. I tried to make eye-contact but they ignored my need for direction. Maybe they sensed my growing disapproval for their haphazard mat placement and inability to line up their mats to maximize space. I looked back and forth, sighed out loud in frustration.

Why did I come here? Why isn’t there a friendly classmate? I recalled the time in the Y locker room when I had dropped a screw from my headphones. I was on the floor for 10 minutes trying to find the awful thing as women walked past me without care. No one offered to help me look for it. Now I was reliving this unfriendliness and felt like crying. Should I just leave? I could go down the hall to the gym and do the treadmill. No, I hate it. Cancel my membership? Go home and eat some cholesterol? Why hadn’t I researched this? I should have looked for a “Yoga for Dummies” book.

Before my blood pressure could go up any more, a tall lean white man strode into the room. This must be the yoga teacher.

He walked over to me and smiled, blue eyes lit with welcome. Then I spoke what I had just been thinking, no, BLURTED is the right word: “Hi, I’m a dummy.” My weirdo blurting surprised me. My words were so heavy. I had been holding my breath.
He arched his dark right eyebrow at me, Spocklike.
“I am too,” he replied. “I’m Jeff.”
“Michele,” I replied. We shook hands. I thought about how disarming it was to have someone respond kindly and appropriately, given my random blurtation prior to our introduction.

Why was I here? No one suggested that I try yoga. The idea seeped into my mind from a few sources. My friend, Stephanie, worked part time job in San Francisco for Lucy, a company that sells yoga clothing. My then coworker, Shannon, talked about the hot yoga class she was taking. One of the weight-loss bloggers I periodically read had written that she signed up for a hot yoga class so she could fit into her skinny clothes. The link to weight loss was enough to propel my interest. I decided not to research it, but to just show up and try it.

I was no stranger to the gym. I had been working out for almost a year when my suppressed anti-workout mindset took over. I could no longer fool myself into liking workout time because I wasn’t seeing any results. I tried, but could not identify with my friends who love working out. I hated that I had worked out for so long and I was still not who I wanted to be. My kid was almost 3-years-old and the flab of skin on my post-motherhood belly had refused to become toned. My butt was still there, hips still filling my jeans and contributing to “I feel fat” days. Not even my most well-designed playlists could get me through the workout hour. I had a hopeless feeling about working out that I feared had always been there and would reside in me forever. Despite my poor attitude, because of my cholesterol and stress levels, I drug myself to the gym as much as I could stand. I hated the effort, the asthma, the pain in my abs. I hated it. Understand? I dreamed about just letting myself go: get fat, eat what I want, take drugs for what ails me.

Yoga is a strange word. Nothing came to mind when someone mentioned it. It was just some exercise class about which I never thought. I was intimidated by the word itself and the idea that I might need new clothes for it. When I first mentioned that I wanted to try a yoga class, my 3-year-old son declared that he needed some yogurt.

This first class was Tuesday night, July 7, 7:30 pm: I wore a white sports bra, gray Ohio State tank, white underwear, black Addidas workout pants and my New Balance sneakers to my first yoga class. You might think what I wore was not important. Or you might identify with the idea that when you try something for the first time, you are not sure what to wear. Kind of like when someone invites you to church. You are free to disregard what I just said, especially if you have never ever cared about how you were dressed. If I liked the class, I could invest in more appropriate clothes later. If I felt uncomfortable I could escape down the hall to punish myself on the abs machine and treadmill.

Jeff walked past me. I turned. He flipped on a light in the closet behind me and there was a large bin of haphazardly rolled up yoga MATS! In the light I could see that he was not bald, but his black and grey hair was shaved very short.

“If you’ve never done this before, you should put your mat near the front so I can help you,” he said.

That sounded like a great idea. I was so relieved to have a mat and a goal as to where it might be acceptable to place it.

A stout black woman came in, smiled, grabbed a mat and walked across to the front of the room with me. She said she was sort of new and dropped her mat next to mine. She advised me to take off my shoes and socks. FINALLY, a FRIENDLY classmate!

Jeff closed the door, dimmed the lights, turned on some ambient music and said something that almost sent me screaming from the room. He said to come into a seated position as he would like to lead us through some warm-up BREATHING EXERCISES called something polysyllabic that I couldn’t spell. Hello Gunning Fog? I swear what he is saying is way past my grade level! Piranha, WHAT? I sat up and tried to focus.

He explained that the breath is a very important part of yoga. We were going to focus on it.

Concentrate? On? Breathing? Through my nose?! Breathing exercises that I couldn’t pronounce? Damn! All of this! How is breathing going to help me lose weight? I wanted to get up and walk out.

Breathing exercises were the last thing I wanted to do! I preferred my breathing to be an involuntary process. Thinking about it usually made my asthma worse. Even in my birthing class the teacher had advised me NOT to do the breathing exercises. Maybe thinking about it another way could make it better? I tried to forget my panic, focus on Jeff’s voice and believe that I could do the breathing exercises, but I was scanning the room looking for the nearest exit.

Here is something close to what he said: We’re going to put our hand in Vishnu Mudra to do some Anuloma Viloma. It’s alternate nostril breathing. You inhale through one nostril for a count of four, pinch your nose shut with your strange clawlike hand position, retain the breath for a count of 16 and exhale through the other nostril for a count of 8. I will count you through it. And if you struggle, give yourself permission to take a breath when you need it.

This is what I heard: “We’re going to put our hand into blah-blah moodra to do some blah-blah-blah.” All of these words were weirder and becoming increasingly more intimidating than the word yoga. I couldn’t even imagine how to spell them so I could remember to write them down after class and google them later.

He explained what he liked to joke is the most difficult yoga pose. It is one that you do with your hand to facilitate the breathing exercise. I watched, then forced my fingers into this pose, first and middle finger pressing the palm, pinky and ring finger extended. I noticed all the uncomfortable muscles in my forearm.

I listened and hoped he would not see that I was checking the doors. So far the focus was on my hand and not on my breath. I was trying to calculate the amount of guilt I would feel for walking out. The equation went something like this: The amount of my guilt equals the distance from where I was sitting to the door, plus the proximity of the teacher to my path to the door, add the noise I would make while walking/ opening and shutting the door and distraction I would cause to the class, subtract the amount of relief I would feel about getting out of there and avoiding an embarrassing asthmatic display— I realized he was looking at me and seemed to be trying not to laugh. “Your face is just…” he said. He laughed a little and then went back to explaining the breathing exercises.

I smiled. My anxiety was disarmed a second time. The panic left me through a little sigh out my nose. When I felt my little sigh of breath on the hand that I had in front of my face, I was reminded that our bodies are amazing. Then I felt I should trust him to call 911 if I passed out– and just try the darn breathing exercises.

The first exercise knocked out my nervousness for good. I was happy that I could do it. It felt good to focus on my breath. I imagined I was underwater. I felt thankful for oxygen and amazed by how my body knows how to process it. I was shocked that I didn’t need to leave and get my inhaler.

The second breathing exercise was called Kapalabhati. This was yet another word that I could not spell but which I tried to remember so I could google later. I wanted to eat some olives. He said the translation of this means “shining skull.” Pranayama was Panamanian Prawns. Vishnu Mudra was “Eat More Chicken” in a foreign Chic-Fil-A commercial. Anuloma Viloma was a skin condition. Even now, MS Word insists on underlining these words.

Anyway, Kapalabhati was a cleansing abdominal breathing that he likened to stomach pumping. His explained it, demonstrated it and then counted us through it. Again I felt no asthma symptoms and was beyond relieved– exhilarated that focusing on my breath had been a positive experience. Now when I feel symptoms of it I am able to relax and focus instead of panicking and reaching for the inhaler. It’s wonderful to be able to be conscious of my breathing- to be thankful for how it works and not panicked about how I have had issues with it. Occasionally I still have chest tightness, heaviness and can’t take a deep breath, but I’m working on it.

When I fell asleep that night I was so happy to be able to think about my breathing in a positive way, and not lie there wondering if I would just stop breathing during the night.

Here I’ve written more than 1500 words and not even started on what comes to mind when someone mentions yoga: the poses!

He asked us to lie on our backs with our legs slightly more than shoulder width apart and our arms out at the sides, palms up. It’s called Savasana or corpse pose. He explained that you do it between other poses to experience the benefits of the previous and get ready for the next one.

He continued: (and this is paraphrase) Let go of whatever is outside of this class because it will be there when you are done. Give yourself permission to focus on yourself and take care of yourself, he said. Notice what’s going on in the body. If you’re holding tension or stress anywhere- Focus on the breath.
“Notice where your mind is at.”

This statement pulled my mind from what I was thinking (how am I going to remember all of this later?), back to his words -that preposition at the end. I realized I’m probably going to get all forms of lie and lay wrong when I write about it later– and then I tried to focus on my breath.

The beautiful ambient music is in common time and I imagine my arms waving above me, directing it. It is a mix of keyboard, percussion, chanting and flute. It is part ancient mystical and part hip local dj. It has an intuitive flow that makes listening easy, but I don’t think it would be played on an easy listening radio station. The flute part is memorable not only for the skill and talent of the musician, but also because you can hear him or her taking a breath to play. It reminds me to focus on my breath.

“Bring your right ear gently to the mat. Bring your head center. Bring your left ear gently to the mat. Center. Bring your arms above your head, stretching through the right side, the left side and the whole body. Roll over to your right side to the fetal position for a few moments before coming to a standing position at the top of your mat.”

He said we are going to stand here in a modified mountain pose and continue to notice what is going on the body. He said we’re going to do something called sun salutations and we’re going to take them slowly.
“Inhale, exhale, prayer position.” I watched in the mirrors and imitated my classmates, inhaling while raising my arms above my head, bringing my palms together and then holding my breath as gravity sinks them back to my heart.

There in front of me in the mirror is me. Oops. I forgot to exhale, so I do. And I’m not sure why it feels odd to see myself in low light wearing workout clothes. There’s my body. There’s my butt. I need a haircut. I don’t think I should be staring. I must stop watching myself.

“Inhale arms above the head. Exhale swan divebend forward on a slow, deep exhalation, hanging here and letting the body release with each exhalation.” I have no idea what a swan dive is. I’ve never seen a swan take a dive, only float down a crick in the park at Bok Tower. The swans were beautiful and also mean. There were many large spider webs at Bok Tower. You see how easily my mind goes off? But I bend forward as I exhale with my arms dangling, trying to relax my head, neck and shoulders.

“Inhale, place your hands on the mat and put your right leg back. Retain the breath and put your left leg back. Exhale your knees, chest and forehead to the mat. Inhale into cobra.”

Inhale into WHAT? I watched Jeff in the mirror and tried to imitate. Meanwhile I thought about someone who just lost their health insurance. My palms were just below my shoulders as I was pretty much lying face down. I pressed into the mat and raised my chest off of the mat, bending my elbows and tensing the crap out of my shoulders. I was not sure what I was doing.

“Exhale into downward facing dog.” Exhale? Oh, you mean I should be breathing? Right. I think I’ve been holding my breath since I bent over. I looked at him in the mirror and saw him making a perfect angle that points upward with his body, hands and feet pressed into his mat.

“Inhale bringing your right leg forward. Exhale bring your left leg forward. Inhale arms up over your head. Exhale your arms down to your sides.”

We did these sun salutation a few times, each time switching to the other leg going back first. He said never count sun salutations. I vowed if I made it through them I will never count them.

At the end of I don’t know how many sun salutations- he said to lie on the floor again in Savasana.
“Notice how your body is responding,” he said.

My heart was pumping hard enough that I could hear it in my ears. I felt warm, confused, overwhelmed and alive. As I lay there and breathed, relaxation ticked into my body, muscles released, bit by bit. I didn’t realize I was this tense. This has somehow forced me to respond with relaxation! I liked being aware of and listening to what was happening in my body instead of just being frustrated with it.

During the class we progressed through the various poses. He explained how to do each and demonstrated them. Then he paced the room, one arm holding the other behind his back. I could tell if he was coming closer from how the floor felt and whether or not I could hear the stick-stick of bare feet walking across the floor. He observed us, asked questions and gave helpful tips.

Later I described my struggles with the poses to Stephanie as if they were episodes of the tv show Friends:

“You know, the one with the hands under you, palms down, lying on your stomach, chin to the mat…” Yeah, exactly how do you get your legs to go up? ‘Cause mine didn’t move. I was convinced I was going to break my arms.

“…the one where you’re laying on your stomach with your arms and legs off of the mat like you’re a flying super hero…” Yeah, I was in a lot of pain from hitting my pubic bone on the floor.

“… the one with your arms up your back and your feet sticking in the air…” Yeah, gravity brought my shirt down so that I was face to face with the flab of skin which refuses to be toned. But instead of hating it, I just acknowledged it as evidence that I am a mother. It was weird to be so exhausted from sun salutations that I didn’t hate the flab anymore.

“…the one where you’re supposed to decide what the pose looks like to you and there are options, maybe it’s called tree…” Yeah, how am I supposed to know what it looks like for me?

“…the one where you’re sitting and bending forward…” Where do my hands go? My back feels all kinds of wrong. That felt so awkward! He said not to round my back. I’m sure I look deplorable doing this.

These breathing exercises and poses made me notice what was going on inside of me. This awareness felt good.

I felt like I didn’t do any of the poses right but was happy to have gotten through it and tried them all. The teacher told us we were all awesome. I giggled. The lady next to me giggled. I felt awesome.

We did some relaxation sequence at the end, bringing our legs off the mat, flexing, tensing, releasing. Same with the buttocks, shoulders and arms. I laughed when he said, “bring everything off the mat.” Uh, levitate?

He asked us again to focus on our breath and named specific body parts for us to allow relaxation into with each exhalation.

We stretched again, and took a deep breath. I sat up and peered around in the dark. Class was over?

The room was darker. I looked at Jeff. He was sitting on his knees facing the class. He thanked us for coming to class, said it was an honor to teach us.

Then he brought his hands into a prayer position just below his face.

“Namaste,” he said. He bowed his head all the way to the floor.

Postscript :: I’ll make some comments, an update of sorts:

Mat: I have a green one for using in the morning at home (when no one is awake so I will not be interrupted) but still use the ones provided at the Y when I am there because I don’t feel like dragging mine around. There is just enough space in our living room.

Breath: I’m able to do most of the breathing in class as instructed. My asthma is near nonexistent. I sometimes am not able to get a full breath when I stand up and put my arms over my head, at the end of the sun salutation. I try not to get frustrated about it when it happens– but it feels awesome when on other times I am able to get the full breath, so when I am not able, it is making me aware of some tension. I was able to work out on the elliptical machine for 30 minutes (watched the Cincy vs USF game that night and chatted with the Y trainer who harassed me about the OSU v Miami national championship, which is another blog entirely) without using my inhaler or feeling chest tightness. I prefer yoga class to the gym but think if I can learn to breathe for it I may try running.

Poses: I have learned some of the names, but not the big words for them. Though the sequence of poses rarely changes, my relationship with each changes/grows. My elbows in the shoulder stand are possibly still atrocious but I do it anyway. I cannot hide the stress/tension jammed in my left shoulder and back from the shoulder stand or downward facing dog, or side plank, or fish or proud pigeon. Wheel is sometimes exhilarating.

Teacher, Class & Classmates: I am blessed to have come to start a yoga practice through Jeff’s encouraging and trustworthy teaching. He is a wonderful friend. The classmates are friendlier when I am friendlier. Imagine that! I have been trying to go to class three times each week. I have learned that there are many different styles of yoga classes and that I am really lucky that this kind was the first kind I tried.

Me: I’m inspired to keep doing yoga. Hans supports this priority and helps me get to class. I am experiencing less stress and tension. I write more, sleep better and hate myself less.