yoga attempts

Friend Whitney and I have done yoga twice off of a free youtube video this week. One of the times a fever was on the horizon that would hit me hard the next morning, so that didn't go so well.  I powered through and felt horrible afterwards. I didn't think that was right. Get that breathing right though, and it's all good. Inhale, stretch, exhale, stretch.

I've attempted yoga before, some of the stretches I can do quite well--the forward, normal stretches that a typical, athletic human being might be able to muster.  Other stretches I can hardly get through, my legs in all the wrong places as I fumble to listen, watch and imitate, and breathe. Breathe. 

Yoga should relax you, make you feel great, meditated, centered, calm.  Sometimes I feel a few of these things, definitely not all at once.  Usually the calmness is mixed with confusion, and the meditation punctuated by straining to see, hear and understand the instructor on the little laptop screen with her ridiculously breathy voice.  It must be one of those things you have to wait for (dare I say, work at) before it gets good.  There aren't many things we wait for in the world for them to get really, really good. I certainly don't. With age wine  improves, a marriage deepens, a childhood friendship...and there are some foods that just taste so much better leftover. Meatloaf. Leftover meatloaf.  You just need to wait those few extra days out. Have patience, and breathe. It'll still be in the fridge. 

Today as we geared up for yoga round two, we sat on carpet in our gym shorts and breathed.  As we came to one of the finals moves, our legs gracefully stretched (or sprawled) behind our heads in a fashion I'd prefer only few to see me in if necessary, I released the move and exhaling my back felt tight.  Listening to my yoga instructor sigh out the next move, and inverted one for our shoulders we had just put pressure on with the weight of our legs, I didn't look up at the screen but tried to copy from memory the move. Which didn't work. At all.  Pushing my lower back upwards and releasing that, I thought I may have broken my back.  Dear, dear yoga instructor tells us to relax and lay back, spread those toes out and breathe. Breathe. Breathe. My back is dead. Oh, I pulled my back. I can't breathe, I can't meditate, Oweee.

Then the pain receded, and eventually fell away. Well, that was weird. Tenderly, I laid in my ending position with the drummer drumming on a sunset lit beach on youtube. How very soothing. Yoga girl saying things about where I should be feeling my breathe in my body.  Trying to think: this is nice. Inhale, exhale. Breathe. 

I don't know if I'll get to the I know yoga and I'm good stage...ever. But there is something about meditation, something about slowing down and focusing in on one thing for forty minutes in your day.  It feels good to think about the breathing in life. Timing your inhales makes you appreciate the exhale. I don't make it through many days thankful for my breathing.  Even on the days I do yoga. Sometimes, I do, I think inhale, exhale, have patience. Breathe. God is in each breath, in between the inhales and the exhales, and everywhere else. When I remember that, I can look through the day and see him everywhere. In the details, always in the details.