At the suggestion of my Sherpa I attended my first Vinyasa yoga class on the weekend. I’m willing to give anything a go once so I donned some trackies and thongs and rocked up at a hall in the back yard of an old apartment block in New Farm.
The hall had vaulted ceilings at the end of white walls with mats laid out on the floor and a Buddha statue in the corner, or was it a krishnu, Vishnu voodoo thingo? (Sorry people I still have my L plates on with all of this). A diminutive Japanese lady took her place at the front of class and started us off on our poses. Her voice calmly guided us to focus on breathing with gentle instructions for the matching sequence of movements, all the while conducting herself with a fluid gymnastic precision that would score her 10 out of 10.
Luckily I’m a classically trained ballerina (though I haven’t done a proper arabesque in a good 12 years) so I could hold balance and keep the poses without looking too awkward. But I can tell you I was totally sweating up a storm by the end of it! Whoever said yoga is less of a work out than pilates is absolutely lying through their teeth!
Four days later I’m still embracing the pain and yet strangely looking forward to more punishment this Saturday. Somehow going through motions, the sequences with the breathing does actually feel like the spiritual experience it’s meant to be and I’m thirsty for more.
Namaste.
No comments:
Post a Comment