To the Dude Snoring in Savasana

I hate you I thank you I hate you I thank you

I am trying to be a good yogi, really I am. And I am thankful that you are giving me the opportunity to exercise yoga muscles apart from those that keep me in bakasana.

But, really it is hard. You make it so, so hard to be a good yogi when you snore in savasana every Tuesday evening.

I know, class was tough. And your workday was also probably pretty tough. Though, admittedly I know nothing about your day. I just know the sounds coming from your direction at the end of class.

Let me be clear: I like you. I don’t know you, but you show up for yoga Tuesdays and sometimes Thursdays, and this makes me like you. And yet… you always snore. You begin just moments after the instructor reminds us that savasana is not for sleeping. Not for sleeping! We are advised to stay alert, let our thoughts float by, acknowledge them and let them go…

But I cannot. Your snores float by me and then return and return again in great, uneven guffaws and gasps. You are no meek snorer.

Sometimes, it is just too much. I cannot suppress the giggles. And the yoga studio becomes a call and response between your snore at the front of the room and my giggle in the back.

Other times I am angry — your racket is invading my savasana — only to feel badly for being mad at a stranger who can’t seem to hold it together in savasana.

Some nights, the yogis at the front of the room take matters into their own hands and someone will emit one. loud. pointed. cough. I revel to hear it, imagining my fellow savasana-er tilting her head ever so slightly in your direction to land a quick noise on you.

Maybe you come to yoga with the very purpose of fixing this snoring problem. Maybe you know all about it and are taking control of your health. Maybe your doctor said: less stress, more balance and this got you into the yoga studio. Nothing bad to say about that. If you were my friend, I’d probably recommend you do this very thing. Go to yoga. It will help you.

One time, I think Sara, our ever-pleasant yoga instructor, actually nudged you with her toe. Nothing happened. And to be honest, I can’t imagine Sara actually doing this. Maybe I fell asleep for a moment myself and dreamed it, because she is not the sort of yoga teacher to tell anyone what to do. Rather than give you a nudge, she’d let you come to it in your own time.

Which is generally what I am trying to do. I’m never going to tell you to shut the f*ck up! That wouldn’t be very nice. And it might come as a bit of a shock considering we’ve never even made eye contact.

If yoga has taught me anything, it’s that I can focus on my path — and let others be. It would just be so much easier if you’d get your snores out of my way, if I didn’t have to deal with all the feelings your snoring dredges up in me.

Rolling up your mat after class, you seem so content and grounded. Well rested. You look exactly like you should after a good yoga practice on a Tuesday night.

If anything, I should thank you for snoring. Clearly you are showing me that I have some issues to work out.

I should go to yoga for that.

This article was originally published on Medium.

Why a Minor Yoga Injury Isn’t a Bad Thing

Lessons learned from time off the mat

I rolled out my yoga mat in a hotel room in Mexico – a beautiful location for a bit of morning yoga. I had been traveling on business and had kept up my routine; and I felt strong, healthy, limber… and proud of myself.

However, midway through a twist sequence: a twang in my lower back. Thinking it best to push through the pain, I persevered – until lying in savasana (aka corpse pose) really did feel like death and I knew something was not quite right. And sure enough, within an hour, touching my toes meant a quick pain through my lower back. Was it the lunge/hip opener I’d thrown in randomly between twists? Had I slept poorly? Too much travel? Surely, I thought, it will get better soon… but day turned to night, to the next day and the next, and no relief came.

Regardless of the type of exercise, whether it is yoga, running, or weight lifting, we are all accustomed to a few aches and pains along the way. Usually, this is the “feel good” pain which means something is working, that a particular muscle is finally getting some much needed attention.

I was not dealing with the “good” pain this time around, though. More than a few days off from yoga practice was clearly needed for my body to heal. But I had been so good about practicing daily for the past month! My core was strong and I was going deep into poses with little effort. How could a no-thrills home practice knock me out like this? And how was I going to take the necessary time off to heal and simultaneously keep the strength and flexibility to embody those beautiful Instagram yogis in incredible poses, gorgeous clothing, and enviable locations?

Yoga had led me to some very non-yogi feelings: not only was I greedy for how yoga made me feel every day but I had become competitive with myself.

Alas, there was nothing to do but take some time off and it was more than two weeks before I rolled out the mat and gingerly restarted my practice. In the meantime, I learned a few things about yoga by not physically practicing yoga:

Patience is a practice.

An injury cannot be willed away nor the healing process quickened. To accept this fact requires humbleness and patience with oneself. For the strain in my back to get better, I had to wait and take care. I could not return to the physical exercise of yoga until the time was right. At first, this was frustrating (and unfair!) but soon I realized that it was an opportunity to practice patience – a skill necessary when learning new poses.

Mindfulness is a practice.

Focused solely on keeping up a daily yoga schedule, I had forgotten why I was doing it in the first place. My goal had simply become “improvement.” But the injury knocked me off the mat; and when I began again, my body was stiff and hesitant – a physical constraint that served as a reminder to remain aware of how I felt with every movement, every breath. No matter how yogi the yogi, the process of bringing oneself back to this moment right now is constant. And this skill – practiced with each yoga pose, from the warriors to scorpion – is something that flows from our yoga practice into our daily lives.

Gratitude is a practice.

These days, it seems (too) easy to take for granted that which means the most to us, to lean heavily on friends and family and believe our appreciation is understood. Just like patience and mindfulness, gratitude is a muscle that can be developed through yoga, by giving thanks for each opportunity to be on the yoga mat. From there, it becomes easier to see the importance of showing gratitude to all the things and people in our lives which help us be happy, content, and successful individuals.

Regardless of how I strained my lower back, the break from yoga actually brought me closer to the practice, by shifting my attention from a physical, goal-oriented practice towards the quiet pillars of yoga. For that, I am grateful.

This article was originally published on Medium.

On Language and Yoga

Sara in Astavakrasana

Yoga class in another language is a bit of a kick.  If you don’t know the words for ankle (tobillo) or shoulder blades (omóplatos) or neck (cuello), for example, things can get a little tricky. Needless to say, one of the reasons for my attachment to Sara at City Yoga in Madrid is that I can understand her.  Literally. Understand the Spanish coming out of her mouth.

It wasn’t always this way.  Often enough I’d attempt a handstand while the rest of the class practiced forearm stands – because well, I thought I understood the instructions.  (This is usually when Sara utters a quick kind word in English and then goes back to pretending she doesn’t know English.)

Thankfully, though, most yoga instructors refer to poses in yet another language: Sanskrit.  So, what usually helps is Paschimottanasana, Urdhva Mukha Svanasana, Ardha Chandra Chapasana, Bakasana. Needless to say, enlightenment was high the day I connected the Spanish term “perro boca abajo” to Adho Mukha Svanasana and its direct English translation: downward facing dog.

Right before moving to Spain, I took a yoga class in French – as a way to prepare for my future state of disorientation.  But the experience was more fun than prophetic.  Turns out, we rely on cues other than those tied to language all the time and because I knew this particular French speaking instructor, following her idiosyncrasies was not much of a problem.

Two years of practicing yoga with Sara and the result is similar.  When familiar with a person, it is easy to follow their nonverbal prompts, particularly in a situation like yoga which removes excess layers of meaning and emphasizes mindfulness. Of course, I don’t realize my reliance on Sara’s nonverbal cues… until a substitute teacher arrives.

Subs don’t find out right away that Spanish is not my best language – thanks to the Sanskrit and to the well practiced art of looking like I understand what someone is saying in Spanish.

What usually happens next is the substitute instructor scans the room for someone to help demonstrate a pose… and lands on lucky me.  No need to guess: I go into a handstand against the wall when the instructor wants to demonstrate a forearm stand.

Language, apparently, is only partly made up of words.