As anticipated the Yoga class attendance was cut by half this week. It didn’t help that it was a glorious evening. Summer has arrived in the West of Ireland suddenly after a long cold Spring. It’s like an old and welcome friend who calls at the last minute, turns up in a flurry of hugs and smiles, and brings a couple of bottles of fabulous wine to sip languidly during a long, intense conversation that lasts (hopefully) three months.
Our teacher, Yoga Elf, goes through all the positions quickly and doesn’t wait for anyone. It’s either keep up or skip a couple of the in-between positions when your legs/arms/etc. are shrieking in alarm at the strange contortions.
Strangely, I find myself unconcerned if I can’t do everything. I try. I aim for good form. I know with practice I will get better. In the past I would have found this a hugely frustrating experience and would have imagined what everyone else in the class thought of my performance. Wisdom seems to have finally caught up with me. I figure they’re all too concerned about hitting their positions to watch me, a newcomer to Yoga.
My biggest concern about Yoga is that it will irritate my wrists and cause an RSI flare-up. If it does aggravate the situation I will have to give up Yoga, which would be a shame. Still, you do what you have to do.
A friend of mine always said that people are solar-powered, and it seems more apt when you live in a country famous for its consistent cloud cover. Once the sun appears a sense of vitality seizes you. Small boring projects that have been languishing for ages are tackled. Life, with all its twists and turns, drifts towards the positive on a balmy day. Even bad news is ameliorated by blue skies and warm breezes.
Long may it continue.