New Year’s resolutions: take it or leave it

Posted in Life, Yoga with tags on January 3, 2012 by Karmela

I’m done with crafting ambitious resolutions to start off the year because frankly, I never follow through with them. I’m even done with goals that you may classify as moderate. You’d think a goal like “take a look at all the papers that the kids bring home from school, then tack the important ones on the fridge,” would not only be a moderate goal, but a goal that makes sense, a goal that’s IMPORTANT. But did it happen? I was good for maybe three or four months, then summer rolled around, and well, that was the end of that.

So this year I’ve resolved to make my resolutions totally modest. Unimportant, even. As in if I accomplish them, great. If I don’t, that’s okay too. You’re like, Karmela, if you’re not gonna work on them, then you can’t call them “resolutions,” can you? Yes I can, and yes I will! Because this is my blog and I can do whatever I want! [/evil laugh]

So here are my modest, unimportant, downright ignorable resolutions for 2012:

  1. Place my right leg behind my neck in Supta Kurmasana. I can already put my left leg in place, but not the right. See, already this is a PERFECT take-it-or-leave-it resolution. If I succeed, woohoo! If I don’t, nothing bad really happens, am I right?
  2. Lose only one dozen things this year, one per month. I am horrible when it comes to keeping track of my shit. I lose stuff all the time. But maybe if I allow myself to lose one item once per month, then I’d be more selective on what that item could be, and they could be items that are totally unimportant. I know, doesn’t make sense, but stay with me here.
  3. Stop caring if the refrigerator door is neat. This is the main reason why I don’t ever put stuff on the fridge door (see entry, “Important Papers, Kids”).
  4. Send out Christmas cards! For those of you who regularly get holiday cards from my family, I skipped them this year. Not because I was lazy, but because hubby was losing his job and I was trying to save on printing and postage costs. But I didn’t even send eCards, which really, there’s no excuse for that. So come this Christmas, be they print cards or eCards, I’m sending them out. (Hey, this one is actually an exception to the take-it-or-leave-it resolution. Hmmm…)
  5. Stop looking at other people who practice alongside me. So what if they can float into Bhujapidasana? I’m not supposed to be looking at all!
  6. Finish your novel! Self-explanatory.I’m actually working on something different this time around.
  7. Become more Tiger Mother-like. And there’s no better way to do that than to supervise their instrument practices, as in Ballerina Girl on piano and Science Boy on the cello. At least 30 minutes a day, every day except Mondays, which is when they have their lessons. Wait a minute, this one sounds a lot like another REAL goal…
  8. Move closer to becoming a yoga teacher. I’ve long ago contemplated the idea of becoming a yoga teacher, but I had three major obstacles to overcome. The first was TIME, the second was MONEY, and the third was the fact that I can only study yoga under the tutelage of someone (a) with a badass Ashtanga practice, (b) whom I respect and adore, (c) who is a fountain of vast yogaknowledge, and (d) is funny as shit. For a long time, such a guru was nowhere to be found in the DMV. But about a month ago, I learned that my current badass teachers are heading up a teacher training program. So while I still have to overcome the whole time/money thing, I can cross the third one off my list of obstacles.
  9. Hunker down and continue to teach my fitness classes. Lately, I’ve lost the passion for teaching the things I’ve taught. It’s a combination burnout (75%) and a lack of time (25%). But in talking to NDH last night, we concluded that the positives (extra income, free gym membership, discounts for kids’ activities) far outweigh the negatives. Since I only teach 1.5 hours one day a week, I’m just going to make myself DO IT. Just do it, girl.
  10. And finally, in my list of take-it-or-leave-it resolutions, I will learn how to play soccer this year. Hey, I said take-it-or-leave-it, right? ;-)

Happy Year of the Dragon, all!

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Moms: You ARE still your own person, dammit!

Posted in Life with tags on December 27, 2011 by Karmela

Happy new year, all! So yesterday morning, I read this op-ed piece in the Washington Post, which made me go from eye-rolling to idea-mulling. You see, in my busy Type A-filled area populated with overinvolved helicopter parents, I hear it from moms all the time: “Oh my god, I don’t have time to (fill in the blank) because of the kids!” And they usually expect me to nod in agreement and empathize. And it seems a universal whine–I hear it from moms who work outside the home and stay-at-home moms, moms with one child and moms with three.

But instead of blanket agreeing with them, I usually give them an eyebrow raise and say, “Really? You know it’s not just good for YOU to (insert activity here they are bemoaning about) but for your WHOLE FAMILY, including your KIDS, right?”

And then they look at me incredulously, sometimes haplessly, sometimes with borderline derision, or sometimes with just pained acceptance, and say something along the lines of, “Well, maybe when you have kids, you’ll understand.” To which I reply with a, “Oh, mine are ten and eight years old. How old are yours?”

I had my kids in the beginning of my 30s. At that time, I’ve also become a group fitness instructor, published a novel, became a folk dance choreographer, joined a band, and taken up yoga in a serious way. (Not all at the same time though, I’m not THAT crazy!) I’ve also managed to hold on to my full-time job and stay married.

Before you throw tomatoes in my direction, my point here is not to brag. My point is that it is POSSIBLE to have something of your own while raising kids. Could be something as simple as a book club, or something as involved as changing your career or re-entering the work force. And volunteering in your kids’ elementary school doesn’t count. I’m talking about something that’s just FOR YOU, no kids involved, something that feeds your soul, something that recharges and energizes you for the energy-sucking full-time 24/7 job that is Motherhood.

To assist you in your quest to reclaim your personhood, I’ve assembled a MUST DO LIST to rediscover yourself. And by “must” do, I mean just that. Non-negotiable, must-be-done things for the coming year:

  1. Exercise. Yep, this is number 1. Non-negotiable. You MUST do this. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for the kids, because a healthy mom is a healthy family. I don’t care if you take a walk just once a week around the neighborhood. Exercise gets the blood flowing and the neurons firing.
  2. Feed your mind. Read the newspapers, play Sudoku on your iPhone, watch MythBusters on TV. The source doesn’t really matter here so long as you are regularly receiving an input of information you didn’t know before.
  3. Go on a date with your spouse. Doesn’t have to happen weekly or even biweekly. Hell, me and the hubby go out maybe once every six week. But go out together just by ourselves we do, and I can’t tell you the thrill we both feel when we drive away from our house with no kids in the backseat. Makes us giddy and feel young all over again.
  4. Stop fixing your kids their own meals. Seriously, you are not a restaurant. Start fixing healthy stuff for yourself. If the people in the house choose to eat it, they get full. If they don’t, they go hungry. Simple as that. No need to stress about it or make a big deal.
  5. Stop skipping breakfast. You KNOW you’re not supposed to skip breakfast, right? YOU KNOW THIS. You do. EVERY single personal trainer, doctor and nutritionist preaches this mantra. The universality of this idea is quite astonishing among professionals who still can’t agree whether eggs are really good for you or not. But breakfast? It’s pretty much an accepted fact that it is good for you. And skipping is BAD FOR YOU.
  6. PART 1 OF 2: Go out with your girlfriends. Nothing revives and rejuvenates the spirit more than sisterhood.
  7. PART 2 of 2: Don’t talk about your kids. Seriously, there are 1,002,443 other things to talk about. Like current events. Fashion. The movies. Sex. And if all other topics fail, there’s always the Kardashians. Oh, and speaking of sex…
  8. Have sex. With your spouse, yourself, I don’t care and I don’t judge. Sex with your spouse is good for your marriage. You know this. And sex with yourself is just like dessert, only with less calories.
  9. Buy yourself something indulgent without guilt or remorse. I’ve met  moms who talk like getting a new pair of impractical shoes is criminal. If your wallet can handle it, why the hell not? So what if you don’t really have anyplace to wear them to? You go to the grocery store, right? No reason you can’t dazzle the checkout folks with your red-soled shoes.
  10. And finally, the last thing on the “Must Do” list for 2012: Stop being so hard on yourself. We’re all of us going through the same things, experiencing the same hardships and triumphs, riding the same waves. It’s how we handle them that make us different from one another. This is where my yoga has really helped me (hey, gotta put in a plug!) become more aware yet less worried.

What do you think? Doable? Impossible? Eight out of ten? Two out of ten? Don’t stress about this list now, that would be the exact opposite of what I’m proposing here. Really, at the end of the day, all I want us to accomplish is to reclaim our individuality, to remember that we are more than guardians of our children, that we were SOMEBODY before the little tykes came along. Because we know too that there will be a time when they will leave us to our own devices. Hopefully, when that time comes, you will look forward to getting reacquainted with yourself with joy and wonder.

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To teach or not to teach…

Posted in Yoga with tags on December 19, 2011 by Karmela

For a long time now, maybe close to two years, I’ve been toying with the idea of entering a yoga teacher training program. Because I’m already a group fitness instructor, plus a practicing yogi, many folks assume it’s but a hop-skip-and-a-jump for me to slide into teaching yoga. But several logistical things have stymied me.

First reason—yoga teacher training programs are EXPENSIVE! As they should be. While it’s a definite barrier to entry, it also shoos away the drifters and keeps it only for those who are serious students. Oh sure, there are people out there who have that kind of loose change and go into teacher training programs purely for fun. That ain’t me. At $2,000 a pop minimum, I would treat any teacher training program as something that requires my utter focus and dedication.

Second barrier—time. Training programs are typically 200 hours long. Though I can likely squeeze this into the schedule with a little wheeling and dealing with hubby, time plus the money situation definitely make the barrier taller.

The third, and perhaps the biggest reason, is the fact that I am an Ashtangi. This is my practice, my love, my passion. Naturally, I am drawn to teaching this form of yoga. Fortunately for me as a student, but unfortunately for me as a wannabe-teacher, the Ashtanga system has a non-traditional path to teaching. The usual method of becoming a yoga teacher in the U.S. is to enroll in a teacher training program where you learn various and sundry things from a book (e.g., anatomy, philosophy, some history of yoga), do some practice teaching, and then BAM. You are, on paper, a qualified yoga teacher. You don’t even have to know/demonstrate any intermediate or advanced asanas yourself.

The primary series' Marichyasana D

Marichyasana D, one of the signature asanas in the Ashtanga primary series, and one of the most challenging. Not many yoga systems perform this posture.

But Ashtanga ain’t like that. Of all the different types of yoga, it’s the one that looks at a person’s practice as a path to teaching. As in, teaching Ashtanga means doing Ashtanga, not sitting in a classroom reading a book. Of course I don’t have a problem with this philosophy. I love it even. But while there are countless schools out there both blessed and not blessed by the Yoga Alliance, there is only one place that has institutionalized and codified the method of teaching Ashtanga, and that’s the K. Patthabi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute in Mysore, India.

But because it’s India, the curriculum is, from what I hear, a bit of a flux, not the rigid do-this-and-then-you’ll-get-this system of education like it is here in the States. Some teachers have gone two or three times before they get their authorization; some go for nine.

But wait, you say. There are tons of Ashtanga teachers here in the U.S. who have never been to Mysore! And you’d be right. Many of them just went through a basic Hatha/Vinyasa teacher training program. Maybe some of these programs covered Ashtanga; maybe some didn’t. They simply used the formal hatha training they received and combined it with their own personal knowledge through self-study and their own practice, and voila! An Ashtanga teacher is made!

Could that be my path? I got a very small taste of what it’s like to teach this past weekend. Teacher and good friend Virginia took me with her to an Intro to Ashtanga workshop  this past Saturday. I was to serve as her demonstration person, to demo both the postures that the students were to perform, and to show the ones that were a little too advanced for an intro class to do. Once or twice, I got up from my mat to personally guide a student into a bind and limb placement. I say “guide” because I didn’t “assist,” as in I was hands-off. Didn’t want to cause injury, you know. But it was my own personal practice that taught me a few little tips on how to best get into some of the postures, and by golly, they worked! There was a lady in her 50s who couldn’t bind in Marichyasana A, but then when I scooted over to where she was and showed her a couple of little tricks, she was able to interlace her fingers around her back. Both of us grinned at each in triumph! And I got a little warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of my uddiyana bandha.

I haven’t even mentioned the fact that a favorite teacher and fellow Ashtangi has revealed to me that she will be conducting a teacher training this fall. It’s tentative, no details yet, but it’s as if the stars are slowly but surely aligning into the perfect position to get me to jump in to teach.

Now if I could only win the lottery. ;-) And get over all the psychological reasons why I think I’d be a bad teacher…

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Why mysore-style Ashtanga teachers are the bestest

Posted in Yoga with tags , on December 6, 2011 by Karmela

DISCLAIMER: I’m about to speak in generalizations below, okay? And as with generalizations, there will be exceptions to what I’m generalizing about. Statistically speaking, chances are there’s a shitty mysore teacher out there somewhere just as I know that there are tons of fantastic non-mysore, non-Ashtanga teachers out there too. I know this, you know this, we all know this. Now that we all know this, let’s get on with the show.

While I’m one of those judgmental types when it comes to fashion (Don’t you even get in my line of vision if you’re still wearing bellbottom jeans—it’s 2011 for God’s sake, not 1991), food (We’re not going to that restaurant that serves nothing but pasta drenched in sauce, are we?) and books (What do you mean you’re not reading YogaBitch?), I pretty much let things slide when it comes to yoga. I accept what people will and will not do with their breath and bodies, the choices they make when it comes to meditation/vegetarianism/drinking pee, or the money they spend on Bali yoga retreats/Manduka mats/Lululemon clothing. No, really, I’m usually not that spiritual/observant/caring enough to note what other people are saying or doing when it comes to their own practice. It’s their practice and that’s that.

BUT…

I am a huge judgment whore when it comes to my teachers.

I’ve been practicing yoga long enough and have taken enough of a variety of classes with a platoon of teachers to recognize good yoga teaching v. bad yoga teaching.  I’m also a certified fitness instructor myself and know the general characteristics that make an instructor (a) effective and (b) beloved among students. Plus I’m also a Washington, DC Type-A type that looks at teachers as professionals that I pay good money to instruct me. So armed with this knowledge and attitude, I’ve come to the conclusion that among yoga teachers…

Mysore-style teachers are the very, very bestest. Again, I have a handy-dandy list of reasons why.

1. Because they practice what they preach. As in teachers in the mysore-style (which I will simply call “mysore” starting here, not to be confused with the city of Mysore with a capital “M”), just like their students, get up in the wee hours of the morning and practice whatever series they’re working on that day. There is no “do as I say, not as I do” for these badass yogis. Many of them get their practice in before their students arrive for 6am class, which means they have to get up even extra-early! But more important, this also means they have a practice. They’re not one of those teachers who simply cue and adjust but have no strength to do a chaturanga because they’ve stopped practicing themselves. Can we all say street cred?

2. Because they are STRONG AS SHIT. They have their own Ashtanga practice so they can do everything they’re asking you to do and they know what it feels like to do it. A conversation between me and Tova as I try to go into Supta Kurmasana:

ME: I can’t put my leg behind my head. I have too much belly fat blocking the way!

TOVA: That’s no excuse Karmela, I have more.

After that, when both my legs were finally behind my neck, it took her another few seconds of squeezing my biceps toward each other to get my fingers to bind. It was hard work for her! Believe me when I tell you that a less physically-able teacher would not have been able to do it.

3. Because they are strict yet patient, both in their practice and in their teaching. As Antonella says, “[t]here are no shortcuts in life, and since this practice is such a mirror for life, there are no shortcuts in this practice.” I can’t say it better than her:

“I’ve seen it many times, people want to do a jumpback, jumpthrough, or any other pose, so they’ll go home and practice that action over and over until they accomplish it. But somewhere in attempting to become proficient at this one thing they miss the work of steadily letting the body open and strengthen. They miss the development of the bond between the mind and body that comes with learning things in a gradual, systematic way. And once they ‘get’ this posture they’ve worked so hard for, somewhere down the line that link that they never developed comes back to haunt them.”

4. Because they tailor the practice to you. I’ll never forget the morning Antonella looked at me as I went into Supta Padangusthasana with a suspicious eye and said, “Who gave you that posture?” knowing I didn’t have it the day before. Mysore-style, as a method of teaching, demands that teachers get to know their students physically and mentally, and adapt the practice to them accordingly. I’m not talking about picking and choosing which posture a student should do. Everyone gets to do the sequence as it was designed by Guruji. I’m talking about modifications to the postures, and more importantly, only giving students postures they’re ready for. To do that, mysore teachers have to get to know each of their students’ (a) ability, (b) health and fitness level, and (c) courage and willingness to try a new posture.  But that’s not all. Within the class itself, they also have to keep an eye out for people who are skipping postures and people giving themselves postures. Which, as we all know, is illegal. Okay, that was a joke! Chill.

5. Because they have hands and are not afraid to use them. Over time, mysore teachers get to know their students so well that they will nudge, poke, push, hold and squeeze you into postures that will scare teachers of other yoga styles shitless. What other styles will teachers gingerly (or strongly, whichever technique is called for) guide a student into the challenging Supta Kurmansana? Or gently push a student’s pinky fingers toward the floor in Prasarita C? Lots of teachers are scared to do that, not because of liability (although I’m sure that nagging thought is there), but because they don’t get to know their students’ hearts and bodies the way mysore teachers do.

6. Because they stop and talk. Mysore-style is the only yoga class where the teacher can stop you in the middle of your practice to exchange a few words without disrupting the rhythm of the class. Unlike a traditional led class in any style, mysore-style lends itself to these types of exchanges, which my teachers typically take advantage of. Our conversations are usually short, usually involving minor adjustments, but sometimes Stair takes the time to learn about a new injury and impart advice and tips.

7. Because they get to know you.  More from Antonella:

I take pride in getting to know my students. I don’t just learn about their bodies, I learn their personalities, quirks, the little things that make them special in their own way. I can tell if one of them is feeling off, if something is weighing on their minds, and I adjust what needs to be done accordingly. I try to make sure they do what has to be done to learn their practice correctly and safely, and at a pace that’s appropriate for them. I try to nurture them.

And because they get to know you…

8. They can make you push yourself when they can see that you’re ready. I’ll never forget the day Antonella bound me for the first time in Marichyasana D. If you’ve never tried it, believe me when I tell you that the first dozen times you attempt it on your own, you’ll feel like you are never, ever, ever going to execute this posture in its fullest expression until the day you die. But somehow Antonella knew I could do it, and before you could even say Samastithi, she was sitting on the floor with one thigh over mine, twisting me so, and making my fingers touch each other. Same goes for the morning that Tova put me into Supta K for the first time. BAM! There it was! She could tell I was ready even if I didn’t feel that I was, and we tried it and it freaking WORKED.

Conversely…

9. Because they hold you back if they see that you’re NOT ready. Like when I had an operation on my shoulder for a torn rotator and labrum but still wanted to join mysore practice and was firmly and decisively told, “No, you are not ready to come back yet.”

10. And finally, because they choose to teach mysore-style. Yoga teachers of other persuasions typically stand in front and look out into a sea of practitioners doing the same movement at the same time. Easy to take a quick gander on who in the room is more advanced v. who is struggling. In mysore class, people start the sequence at different times. Some are faster than others. Some are doing primary, a few are doing second. Some don’t know the sequence and have to be cued. Some are injured and need modifications. Some need adjustment while others are waiting to be dipped back.

And these are just the technical rhythms of the class. Sometimes a student also needs to be counseled on something more than asana; maybe his breathing is off, maybe his etiquette leaves something to be desired. And sometimes there’s chitchat in the room that the teacher has to police. And look! There’s a student that hates Bhujapidasana so much she skipped it.

Mysore teachers not only need to have their own practice and technical knowledge, but they also need an eagle eye, great control of a roomful of people doing different things and different times, reservoirs of patience, humor, a true love of Ashtanga (after all, the sequences never change), and not be afraid to use tough love on their students when necessary.

So, did I convince you that mysore style teachers are the bestest in the universe yet? No? Then there’s really only one thing for you to do now, right? Come to class with me.

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The 8 limbs and being a good band member

Posted in Music, Yoga with tags , on November 30, 2011 by Karmela

Have I mentioned that I’m in a band?

I am. I’m a mediocre keyboard player for a modern rock band called Say Something. And by “mediocre,” I mean “really, really bad.” I can barely read music, I can’t play anything that involves using both hands, and I don’t know how to operate my electronic keyboard other than pressing buttons that clearly say “Piano” or “Strings.” Forget about adding effects. And what the hell is this “Transpose” button and why does it mess up me every time I accidentally hit it?

Anyway, I bring this up because surprisingly, of all the things I do in life, striving to be a good band member is what’s most applicable to living through the eight limbs of Ashtanga. Don’t believe me? Here are the eight limbs and how they translate to being a model band member.

Limb numero uno, the “amas” or the “don’ts,” actually has five sub-limbs.  They are:

  • Ahimsa or non-violence. As in do not hurt your bandmates when they don’t want to play the song you want them to play.
  • Satya or truthfulness. I must however be honest if something sucks. It’s usually me, so I have no problem with this tenet.
  • Brachmacharya or control of the senses and celibacy. The celibacy part doesn’t really apply because I’m married to the guitar player. But the control of the senses, I interpret that to mean, “Pay attention!” As in “don’t be distracted during practice.”
  • Asteya or non-stealing. Well, this is easy. Whatever stuff I want to steal is really BIG and HEAVY and I cannot lift them by myself (e.g., an amp/snare drum). So that takes care of this tenet.
  • Aparigraha or non-covetousness. My bandmates are all dudes, so it’s not like I’m about to covet their smashing pair of stiletto leopard-print boots or their faux-but-really-authentic-looking Birkin bag. So this one is easy too. Actually, I’m the band member with the most fabulous accessories, so I’m thinking perhaps they covet mine!!!

Same with limb #2. The “niyamas” or the “dos” has five sub-limbs:

  • Saucha or purity/cleanliness. Basically, use deodorant. Don’t stank up band practice.
  • Santosha or contentment. As in don’t be my usual diva self. I will admit this is the most challenging for me. Divas, by our very nature, are demanding creatures. While I don’t usually demand my way or the highway, I do on occasion like to pipe up and state my opinion even if I know nothing about anything. As a card-carrying R&B girl, what do I know about modern rock? I used to hate it back in the 90s! So I translate this limb to mean, Shut. The. Fuck. Up.
  • Tapas or austerity. Easy. This one means “Don’t spend your money on band stuff.” I leave that up to hubby. And Randy, our bassist and resident collector of musical instruments. Next time you come to one of our gigs, check out his incredibly cool upright bass.
  • Swadhyaya or self-study. This one means practice your parts on your own time instead of using band time. Band time is for the band to see if all the parts work together.
  • The last niyama is Ishvara-Pranidhana or the act of surrendering to a higher source. As in I must defer control of band stuff to the higher sources that are my bandmates. Which is how it should be because they know oodles more than I do about this here ye rock ‘n roll stuff. Some days this is easy to do; some days it’s hard. Just like yoga.

Limb #3, Asana is the most famous of all the limbs. It means steady posture. I interpret this to mean that when I’m up on stage, to stand straight, look out at the audience instead of down on my keys, smile, give them a good show.

Pranayama or “control of prana or life force” is the limb that’s all about breathing. This one is what addresses my stage fright. Deep breaths before going onstage should take care of the nerves.

Pratyahara or withdrawal of the senses is probably the one that doesn’t apply. Playing a gig = performance = external focus = connection with the audience. Totally different from a yoga practice which is internally focused. So we’ll skip this one.

Dharana or concentration totally applies. Have a good time but focus! Don’t mess up!

I apply Dhyana or meditation for after the gig, as in mulling over how I did. Of course my natural tendency is to critique the entire band, which I have to constantly work to refrain from doing because, again, what do I really know about playing/music/singing?

And finally we have the last limb, Samadhi, or being in a super-conscious state. I interpret this to mean being hyperaware of what’s going on with the band and being attuned to my bandmates’ likes/dislikes/moods/preferences. Which means I must control the attitude and listen to people who know more than me.

See? What did I say about the Eight Limbs? Totally applicable to my role as Resident Mediocre Piano-Playing Diva, right? But do I apply them to the rest of my life? Baby steps.

 

If you’re curious and wanna see a performance of Say Something, or you’re a fellow Type-A Ashtangi who’s already looking for something to do this New Year’s Eve, come party with us here.

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Yoga giveth, yoga taketh away

Posted in Yoga with tags , on November 22, 2011 by Karmela

So. Been going to mysore-style class for going on three weeks now, and I cannot tell you the amazing things I’m discovering with my practice. Biggest one is how even though I practice the same thing day in, day out, things are never exactly the same. Some days I can jump back five times without toes touching the ground, some days things are so heavy I can barely lift them. Some days balance is rock-solid, some days things are so wobbly I wonder if I’m (still) hungover from the day before. So while the practice is usually triumphant because hey, look at me! I can finally touch my toes/lift my leg up/twist like a pretzel, it’s never a guarantee that on any given day, I’ll be able to do any or all of those things in my practice.

Take that ever-elusive posture, Urdhva Mukha Paschimottanasana. About a couple of weeks ago, I got it. I really did! Held the dang thing for five breaths, exited cleanly, gave myself a(n) (invisible) fist pump. Yeah! One more posture conquered, right?

Well wouldn’t you know it, a couple days later, it was GONE. Vanished. As if I’d never done such a thing, held such a posture. I was like, what the…? Where did it go? Someone took it away! Waah! Okay, I didn’t really want to cry. But I got a little frustrated, I must admit.

And then there’s that one-two punch of all primary series postures: the impossible Kurmasana-Supta Kurmasana combo. Ever since I’ve been practicing Ashtanga, I’ve coveted those postures. Everything I did, every forward bend I took, every hamstring-lengthening posture I went into, were all for the purpose of achieving the near-improbable task of putting both my legs behind my neck. Theoretically I knew they were possible. I’ve seen pictures! I’ve seen people in class do it! But could I, with my short arms and legs, ever achieve it? Nah, not in one bazillion years.

But then lo! I did it last week! Sure it was with the help of my teacher, and sure she had to practically wrestle me into the posture, but there it was—legs behind the head, fingers bound together behind me. BAM! I almost felt like crying with joy! And the same week, I did the ol’ knees-straight/heels-off-the-ground thingy in Kurmasana. I felt like doing this little piggy and going ‘weeeeeee!’ all the way home!

So it was with some confidence that I stepped on my mat yesterday even though (a) it was a Monday, (b) I was feeling extra-tired from not having woken up at 5 am the last two days (Saturday and Sunday after all), and (c) I was recovering from a cold. None of that mattered, I thought. This time, I was gonna bust out the ENTIRE primary series with every posture finally correct! No modifications!

And of course, things fell apart after that. I won’t bore you with the particulars of my epic failure, but suffice it to say all the things I achieved last week went to the toilet, and even some postures that I’ve been semi-confidently doing for the last few months ran away screaming from my mat.

What happened?

Probably vanity. And ego. And yes, a feeling of some trepidation about “Will I? Can I?” with my new postures.

Just goes to show you that this yoga thing ain’t just physical. It’s mental too. Actually, I’m coming more and more to the realization that it’s MOSTLY mental. And emotional. When your heart is ready and your ego is gone and your mind is humble is when the postures come. I know this, dang it. I do.

But once in awhile, I let outside forces creep into my practice, my mind starts wandering, my attention diverts. Once in awhile, I get impatient or competitive or show-offy. And more than anything that affects me physically, more than the cold or hunger or tiredness, it’s my mental outlook and attitude that will determine whether my practice that day will be joyful and light, or a sludgy mess.

But luckily, I have a teacher that keeps reminding me that all I need is to keep practicing. “Practice and all will come,” she says, quoting from some guy in India. :-)

And really, at the end of the day, that’s all I can do.

See you on the mat tomorrow.

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YogaSlut™ No More!

Posted in Yoga with tags , on November 15, 2011 by Karmela

Bet you didn’t know I was a YogaSlut™, eh? ;-)

I’ve been a YogaSlut™ for going on two years now, flitting between studios and teachers and styles, trying to see which one (or two or three) offered me the most love, the most excitement, the most bang for my buck. I’ve blasted off with Rocketeers, bended my body like Beckham in Bikram, and flowed through various and sundry Vinyasa-style classes to music ranging from Kirtan to Hip Hop (waves to Virginia). I’ve taken classes from Anusara teachers and Iyengar teachers, visited studios in New York and San Francisco and Chicago, and have even taken a class at a YMCA in Franklin County, Va.

All of last year, I kept coming back to Ashtanga yoga and the primary series even though at first glance it would seem that Ashtanga and I would never get along. It has a set sequence, traditionally eschews musical accompaniment, encourages self-practice, etc. etc, basically all the things that can be classified under “Things That Bore Karmela Shitless.”  But lo! It actually had the opposite effect! For all the reasons I’ve enumerated before, I came to the realization that Ashtanga was my One True YogaLove.™

So did that mean that my YogaSlut days were over? Hardly. Last year, even while I was getting deeper into my Ashtanga practice, I still bounced around from one vinyasa/Rocket/Bikram/Ashtanga class to another, having fun all Carrie Bradshaw-style,except instead of dating different guys I was going to different studios, and instead of buying multiple pairs of expensive shoes I was buying multiple expensive mats.

Then a series of unexpected incidents quietly and perhaps permanently transformed my practice.

First, I got injured in the bee-hind. Semi-major injury, long recovery, Then a major injury in the shoulder happened. Wear and tear, arthritis, surgery. Then over the summer, Antonella counseled me on my practice — what might have caused the injuries and how to mindfully practice to prevent more. Then Stair opened LRY North. Beautiful space, the only Ashtanga center in NoVa. Then I went to my first Tova mysore class.

I can’t say that something instantly clicked then. It was more of a gradual realization that THIS is what I should be doing now, that the timing is right, that this is what my body needs, what my soul needs. All of me has somehow realized that at this very instant, at this juncture of my life and at this point in my physical well-being, THIS is what I need to do, where I need to practice, who my teacher should be. No more flittering about different styles and studios and teachers.

Hey what do you know? It feels great to be monogamous! Could it be? Am I a YogaSlut no more?!

For the foreseeable future, I will be getting up at the crack-of-early three mornings a week as prescribed by Dr. Tova to attend her Mysore class at Little River Yoga North. She has presented me with a plan, which although scares me a little (there’s NO WAY I’m going to get that bind in Supta K, but whatever, I’m letting go, ommm…), I’m willing to dive right into it. And in between classes, I shall practice on my own, because, well, I want to! I know, call me crazy, but I actually want to get up at 5 am and practice alone, without music, to a set sequence everyday.

Not to say I won’t cheat and indulge in a few dessert-type classes in the future (Hello, AcroYoga!), but for the most part, I plan to remain faithful to my Perfecta Trifecta: (1) Mysore with (2) Tova at (3) LRY North.

Can’t wait til tomorrow morning.

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My Love Letter to the Primary Series

Posted in Yoga with tags , on November 10, 2011 by Karmela

I woke up this morning earlier than usual and even though it’s a Moon Day and Mysore-style classes all over the world have been cancelled, my body was raring to practice. And so I did, at 5am, in the quiet of my kitchen with only a tiny spider dangling from the ceiling for company and the sound of my breath as accompaniment. No music, no space heater, no incense smells. And that’s when it hit me.

I’m in love with the Primary Series.

Maybe because despite my hating on it before, despite my blaming it for my injuries, despite my abandonment of it in favor of younger, sexier yoga (Yeah, I’m talking to YOU, Rocket!), the primary series took me back with no questions asked, total forgiveness, and even more love than before.

Let me explain.

Practicing the primary series is like dancing with a long-time lover. You are comfortable with him and know his moves, but he still takes your breath away. You can be with him anywhere, pretty much anytime you want. And he was there for you post-surgery, when you were at your weakest, when you (wrongly) blamed him for causing the injury, never abandoning you, there for when you were ready for him.

My injuries and consequent surgery have given me a perspective on my practice—and on the primary series—that I’ve never had before. Pre-surgery, the only thing the primary series represented to me was a way to get to second series. I was impatient for my next postures during mysore class and gave myself postures during self-practice. I couldn’t even bind in Marichyasana D and yet at the same time was clamoring for some Pashasana already.

Before surgery, I was also supplementing my practice with a whole lot of other acrobatics—handstand workshops, rocket yoga, advanced classes, even some Bikram—all so I could learn Astavakrasana and Pincha Mayurasana already so when it came time for second series, I’d be able to rock it out instantly.

So what happened? Double-whammy injuries. First an Ischial Tuberosity (literally “pain in butt”), and then tears in my labrum and rotator cuff that required the drilling of five arthroscopic holes into my right shoulder and continued rehab.

I was devastated to say the last. I had signed up to go to a mysore beach week with fellow Ashtangis and asked the teacher if I could still practice with the class. After careful (and wise) consideration, she declined to take me in and taught me about ahimsa. She counseled me thoughtfully and advised patience and kindness towards MY OWN BODY. I was floored, frankly. And doubtful. I mean, what kind of advice is that? Rest? Take it easy? Those are for non-active people, lazy people, people who are not like me!

But I had no choice. It would’ve been awfully bad form of me to crash the class, and besides, Antonella is strong. I have no doubt she can tackle a linebacker, never mind little ol’ injured me. So even though I went to the beach with the group, I stayed far away from where the asanas and breathing were happening whilst nursing my own disappointment and practicing (what I thought at the time was) my own sad, sorry form of yoga.

But even though I couldn’t practice with the group, they still invited me to the social gatherings which I gratefully attended. I mean, anything to be around fellow yogis! I went to a discussion on Ashtanga and was able to bask in the company of fellow Ashtangis, practitioners who, like me, like to push their minds and bodies to the limit. But best of all, I got to have some one-on-one time with Antonella, who had studied in India with Sharath himself and has been authorized to teach. And you know what else she told me? That perhaps I may have done too much in my practice too soon, performed postures that my body was not ready for. And you know what? Finally, I got it. Her words, all of them, rang so true. It was like someone switched on a light bulb in my head.

So now here we are, almost four-months post-surgery, and I am back to mysore classes with an old and a new teacher. (And no Stair, I did not just call you “old!” You know what I mean.) And you know what’s happening that didn’t happen before, when I first started practicing Ashtanga? I am falling in love with the primary series in it of itself. I am discovering the beauty of the Janu Sirsasanas, really sinking into my Marichyasanas, having fun with my various and sundry Konasanas. I’m even loving Bhujapidasana and have stopped coveting Supta Kurmasana, a posture that was so elusive to me post-surgery I started to really, really hate it. And of course, I continue to rock Garbha Pindasana, perhaps the funnest posture in all of yogadom.

And you know what happened? Last Tuesday, Tova put both my feet behind my neck for Supta K! (Thank you Tova!!!)

I am proud to be doing well in the series considering all the wear and tear. It’s so wonderful to rediscover it, to appreciate it for its intrinsic awesomeness instead of seeing it as a gateway or stepping stone to something else. My plan (which, okay, I need plans because I’m just THAT kind of person) is to totally rock out every posture, revel in them, and not look beyond them.

Because what I’ve ultimately come to realize is that if Stair or Tova never give me a second series posture for the rest of my life, I will be happy right where I am, right where Settu Bandhasana and Urdhva Danurasana intersect.

This post is dedicated to my Rocket teacher, Peg Mulqueen, who made me realize that it doesn’t make me a bad person if I don’t strive for the second series. Thank you, my teacher.

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My Seven Deadly Ashtanga Sins

Posted in Yoga with tags on October 28, 2011 by Karmela

I’ve heard all the reassurances before. “Practice and all will come.” “Do what you can.” “Anyone can practice.” But you know what? I’m one of those poster children for Ashtanga yoga—the driven perfectionist, the Type A personality from a western country, the student that has immersed herself in self-study BEFORE going to a class so as not to be embarrassed when everyone knows what comes after Navasana and she does not. “Practice and all will come?” More like “Practice makes perfect.” I had a Tiger Mother after all.

However, the perfectionist in me is also the same individual that acknowledges the power of rules and traditions, especially when it comes to yoga. Maybe it’s because I’m getting older, and with age comes the wisdom to respect the history and culture and customs of something that’s Really Really Old. The bad thing about that is I’m also enough of an autodidact to know the rules and when I’m breaking them. See, I can’t even blame ignorance for flouting the rules! I am knowingly and purposefully breaking them.

So what are these Ashtanga rules I’m breaking? I’m sure I’m committing a ton of these fouls, but here are the biggest of the lot. When I’m self-practicing:

  1. I skip Savasana. This is probably the second deadliest sin I commit. (What’s THE deadliest, you ask? You’ll have to read on to find out.) I really don’t see why I have to lie still on the ground afterwards. Sure it’s relaxing, but truth be told, I prefer to chill out in other ways. Yes, it’s supposed  to be relaxing and calming, good for centering the mind and body and all that. I can admit that it’s probably good for you. But NOT doing it ain’t necessarily BAD for you, right? Since I injured my shoulder last July, when it comes time for Savasana, I get up, attach electrodes to my right shoulder from my TENS unit and put an icepack on. Then I plop on the couch and turn the TV on. Just as relaxing, believe me!
  2. I skip the chant. Because I don’t know the chant. I know, I just really need to learn it. In class, I kind of mumble and fake my way through it, although I’m sure I’m not fooling anyone let alone my eagle-eyed teacher. So when I’m by myself, I don’t even try. I just skip it. Is it bad? Am I offending the yoga gods and inviting bad juju my way? (Wait, I think I just mixed cultures/deities.) Is Stair never going to move me to second series unless I learn the chant?
  3. I don’t do my oms either. Why don’t I? This one I actually like doing. I like the deep moan of the om. Reminds of the sounds I made during labor. (Wait, was that TMI?) I really don’t know why I skip this one. NOTE TO SELF: Say your oms during your next self-practice.
  4. “My name is Karmela and I rush through self practice.” Yes, I do. (***hangs head in shame***) For some reason, I can complete the entire primary series in just an hour, when it takes me at least 75 minutes during Mysore class. I don’t know how. I’m not skipping postures or vinyasas. Actually, scratch that. I know exactly what I’m doing. Or what I’m doing wrong. And it has something to do with my…
  5. Breathing. Specifically, I cheat when I breathe. You’re like, what? How can you cheat at breathing? Only yogis—and Ashtangis in particular—will understand what I’m talking about. I don’t breathe evenly in every posture, meaning some postures get the full five ujayyi breaths (e.g., Dandasana), while some postures get what sound more like the breathing of a panting dog (e.g., Marichyasana D). In a led class or even in Mysore, I dare not do this. But by myself? Well, all (breathing) bets are off.
  6. I play music. I DO! I know that all I’m supposed to need for self-practice is a mat-sized space and a mat, that I’m supposed to look inside myself, to internalize everything, to forget about my surroundings and to just PRACTICE. I tell ya, when I’m with myself by myself, it’s easier said than done. So I get a little musical help. Music lets my mind focus on something else instead But here’s the even greater transgression: I don’t even play kirtan or Indian music or even classical. I play hip hop. I do. Believe me when I tell you that the rhythm of an Eminem song ain’t necessarily incompatible with the flow of an Ashtanga practice. He has hypnotic bass beats, that Em.
  7. And here perhaps is the biggest of the Seven Deadly Ashtanga Sins I’ve committed: On my own, without permission from my teachers, I give myself postures to practice. Did I just hear you gasp in disbelief? I don’t blame you. This one’s a biggie. For non-Ashtangis out there, let me explain. So when you first start practicing the primary series and you decide to go to a Mysore-style class, most students don’t actually get to practice the entire series. A description of what goes in is here. In my case, when I first started attending, my teacher stopped me after Supta Kurmasana, and rightly so. My Supta K to this day is a big hot mess. Concave torso, knees that are nowhere near under my shoulders, hands that are about a foot apart behind my back. I don’t blame her for taking me there and keeping me there. The process is this: when your teacher deems you ready, he/she gives you the next posture in the series you can practice. But you know what? I knew I could rock the postures after Supta K. Baddha Konasana? Doable. Supta Padangusthasana? Cake. And I wanted to learn Chakrasana. So when I began to practice on my own after my schedule no longer allowed me to come to class, I just started adding the postures after Supta K until now I practice the entire series start to finish. Is every posture perfect? Hella no. Is my Supta K still a hot freaking mess? No doubt. But watch me add Pashasana to my practice tomorrow.

I’m hoping my lovely and understanding teachers will read this and tell me all is well, that these transgressions are forgiven, that they still love me and think me cute as a button. Maybe they will—but only when I’m self-practicing. When I’m in the studio, I’m sure they will continue to make me toe the line and obey the rules. I have no problem with that. Because really, when I break the rules, who am I cheating? No one else but me! These shortcuts are to no one’s detriment but my own. (***Hangs head in shame again***) I know that.

Ah, the life of a yogi. Okay, so SECOND NOTE TO SELF: Try not to break any rules tomorrow.

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First season of dance competition (mercifully) ends

Posted in Dancers, Motherhood and Dancing, The Dancing Life with tags on June 1, 2011 by Karmela

So I’ve blogged before about how last summer, Ballerina Girl was invited to join her dance school’s dance team. At the time, having grown up steeped in dance performances instead of competitions, I knew nothing about this world whatsoever. And the more I researched (on the Interwebs of course), the more horrified I became at the prospect of little Jon Benet Ramseys strutting about onstage. Thank god for trustworthy good friends whose own daughters were dance team veterans and who reassured me that in our studio at least, the experience has been nothing but positive.

So despite my initial trepidation, I let her join and found out for myself what dance team was all about. And yes, it was (and continues to be) a positive experience. Practices at BG’s dance studio were limited to once a week for only 45 minutes, so the girls always seemed to look forward to going.  Ms. Ester’s choreography was fun and bouncy and age-appropriate. The costumes were sparkly and fringy and (most important for BG) not itchy. And the girls themselves were all equally talented and giggly and cute as buttons. BG’s team was scheduled for three competitions during the season starting March, and so while I was still wary of equating dance with “competition” (in my mind, it’s still firmly rooted as an “art form” vs. “sport”), I knew that they are commonplace and that thousands of budding dancers all over the country participate. So how bad could it be?

In a nutshell—I saw my best hopes and worst fears come true.

THE BEST: Seeing BG’s team explode onstage with all the energy and gusto that only 7-9 year olds possess. And they did it three times, in three different competitions, only developing more pride in their steps and more confidence in their movement as the season went on. Their performance quality improved. And I saw the girls gel together the same way a sports team does.

THE WORST: Seeing too-skimpy costumes, too much makeup, and HIGHLY age-inappropriate choreography on other dance teams. The culmination of my horror wasa number from a dance team composed of girls around 8-10 years old who danced to Legally Blonde: The Musical’s “Bend and Snap.” If you haven’t seen the show, y’all have at least seen the movie, right? We all know what bending and snapping is for, yes? While I approve of this maneuver for grown women, it is absolutely cringeworthy to see prepubescent girls doing it. Onstage, with their bright pink booty shorts and blonde hair extensions, the girls stuck their bums back, then snapped to standing while sticking their (still flat) chests forward. I almost bent and snapped myself to a tizzy while watching. Who are these girls’ parents and why didn’t they protest such (a) highly inappropriate music, (b) age-inappropriate choreography, and (c) too-skimpy costuming?

Fortunately the benders and snappers were also fantastic dancers with lots of energy, great extensions and marvelous technique. So at least they’re getting topnotch dance training alongside the stripper moves they’re learning. Which, ironically, makes it unfortunate as well because the competition judges must now reward them for their impeccable skills. I mean, it’s not their fault that their choreographer doesn’t know the meaning of the word “indecent,” yes? Understandably, the benders/snappers received a platinum, the highest award for a team. But the judges also admonished them somewhat by heaping praise on other teams who, even though may have scored lower on the technique scale, had age-appropriate costumes and choreo.

So that’s our experience with our first year of dance team. BG wants to do it all over again, and I’m delighted that she does. She had such a positive and fantastic time dancing and putting on the glittery costume and wearing (minimal) makeup and bouncing around with her friends. She will need to audition again to rejoin the team and I hope she makes it because I’m happy to have her participate again. But only with this studio, with this teacher and with the friends that she’s with now.

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