A couple of weeks ago, I made the somewhat premature, and possibly ill-advised, decision to book myself onto a yoga class, and I have to admit that, all things considered, it was quite an odd thing to do taking into account that I am currently unable to even manage the most basic of asanas well.  I remain puzzled about what on earth was going through my mind at this particular point in time, but as with the majority of my ‘decisions’ of late, I had a fair level of reassurance that I would most likely bail at the last minute anyway – ‘unreliable’ has become my middle name over the past few years.  I’d even gone as far as to phone the teacher beforehand to warn her of my various physical limitations, perhaps in the hope that she would refuse her consent to me attending because I could turn out to be the biggest liability she’d ever had to deal with; however, no joy there either, and she suggested I came along to give it a whirl.  Meanwhile, my head was busy reassuring itself that I still had numerous reasons for not showing up: waking up and getting up on time is still quite a major achievement for me, swiftly followed by the level of pain and stiffness first thing, whether the pills kick in on time, and when they do whether I’ll be too wasted to do anything much at all.  And even if I managed all of the above, I would presumably have raging anxiety levels which would make it impossible for me to go somewhere I’d never been before and be surrounded by complete strangers.  So, I slept well that night, safe in the knowledge that I had numerous genuine reasons and lame excuses already in place, and assumed I simply wouldn’t manage it which would probably be the best outcome for all involved.

Yoga is interesting stuff, and I’ve practised it intermittently for many years.  I should, perhaps, add here that I’ve never felt the physical / psychological / spiritual/ transformational uplift which many yogis / yoginis apparently do experience, but in the past my relatively brief periods of doing yoga regularly have produced positive physical and psychological results.  I first tried it during late pregnancy, and found it helped with respiration, relaxation and flexibility.  I tried it again a few years later, having discovered that I would need to wait many years before my knee replacement surgery could be performed so to try to retain as much flexion within my leg as possible in the meantime, and then again a respectable period of time after surgery.  And finally, I drifted back into it a few years ago, during a more frantic search for some level of reassurance that my body wasn’t escalating wildly out of control, before having to admit that actually it was and I needed more surgery.  It seems that there has always been some benefit in my practising yoga on a regular basis, so why do I never stick at it?  If memory serves correctly, it is a combination of things – firstly, and perhaps inevitably, the changing levels of mobility and pain due to my arthritic condition; secondly, my psychological issues with depression and the accompanying lethargy, lack of motivation and decreased energy levels are hardly conducive to such practices; and finally, dare I say that perhaps it’s my personality which is at odds with it, my impatience and my lifelong inability to stick at anything for very long before flitting off and diving into my next fad?

Anyone who has ever tried yoga will probably tell you that it’s hard work – really bloody hard work.  Yes, it all looks very lovely and a bit freaky, but just because no-one ever leaves a class with a scarlet sweating face and gasping for breath doesn’t mean that it isn’t a major body work-out.  Again, this is what puzzled me about why I booked myself onto a class – surely, after all the aches and pains of the past few months, why would I want to put my body through something like this?!  I guess the answer lies in the fact that I am so totally sick of doctors, surgeons, hospitals, physios, and all things clinical.  I think the answer is that I realised that I needed to do more to get my body working better, to build more stamina, to strengthen core muscles etc but also that what I wanted was something which was interesting, nurturing, and was more holistic than the traditional post-surgery recuperation strategies.  One of the purposes of this blog has always been to consider a more humane perception of the physical and psychological impact of arthritic conditions and treatments, and how clinical approaches to recuperation are limited simply to physiological expertise rather than a more supportive and holistic approach.

So, did I actually get myself to the class?  Yes!  Much to my amazement, I did manage to get myself there, and have attended a further two since then, although it would be fair to say that one was far more suitable than the other.  I even managed to complete some of the asanas with varying degrees of success, and am now trying out various local classes to find something which works best for me at the present time and with my current physical limitations.  It’s tough and I feel absolutely battered for a couple of days afterwards, but I have learnt a lot about the current condition of my body and its limitations.  I have also learnt something rather curious about my psychological state of mind.  As often happens with me, my anticipation of how I will respond to any given circumstance or situation is not necessarily correct, and this is precisely what happened with the first yoga class; I expected to be too shy / nervous / anxious to attend, but actually the opposite happened.  As I have said previously, I don’t really do ‘anxiety’ or if I do it’s usually a specific situation, most often if I have to go somewhere I don’t know and where I don’t know anyone.  The first yoga class had all the elements I avoid like the plague whenever possible, however, I did manage this with relative ease, most likely because the state of my depression is, at present, in the “couldn’t care less about anything” phase; it was by exploiting this which enabled me to get there and do that thing.  I’ve figured that this is actually something really useful to be aware of, and if I genuinely don’t care, whatever happens or if something goes badly pear-shaped, it won’t bother me because it doesn’t actually matter.  It’s empowering, although for all the wrong reasons, but is progress of sorts I think.

My habitual hunt for interesting images today produced the pic above – yes, it’s unusual for a yoga photo, and thankfully, no effortless flexibility or smugness here.  The image in itself spoke volumes to me about my own shortcomings regarding yoga practice, but the article is also worth a read.  Rage Yoga, if you haven’t heard of it before, is the complete antithesis of the usual practice of yoga, and I’m both ashamed and possibly proud to say that maybe this is a type of yoga that I should consider and start tweaking my practice to accommodate a lot more swearing and regular beer breaks?

So, tomorrow I will be back again at my local, very calm and polite class – forcing my body to do stuff it really would rather not given the choice, channelling my anger and frustration into asanas, and trying not to swear out loud.  To any yogis and yoginis out there who might be reading this, “Namaste”.  And to anyone else who happens to practise Rage Yoga, “Namaste, Motherfu*kers!”