It’s been a busy spring, work-wise. But now it’s May, and we’re entering the Summer of Yoona (“SOY”). As part of SOY, I have reintroduced myself to yoga and have been going most weekday mornings at 6:00 am.
I’ve flirted with yoga in the past but it’s never stuck. And I’m not saying it’s sticking this time, because it’s only been three weeks. But I feel better about this yoga (Corepower) because it moves quickly, is less hot, and is not so focused on the deep and complicated breathing that is so integral to yoga at other studios, and which I am utterly incapable of performing. That’s right–I’m that kind of yoga person. The kind that “does” yoga, not the kind that “practices” it. The kind that asks her friend Patrick if he’s “good” at yoga, and is confused when Patrick responds that yoga is not about being “good.” Say what? Patrick could have been discussing astrophysics in Swahili and we would have connected better during that conversation.
Basically, the zen stuff is nice but what I really want from yoga is Jennifer Aniston’s arms. And I think Corepower might get me there. But it’s not perfect. To be perfect, the studio would have to cut out the poses I can’t do. By that, I’m not talking about the poses that I can’t do correctly–because there are lots of those. I’m talking about the poses that I can’t do at all, like the Camel and the Crow.
I’m ok with my inability to do the Camel (above). Because I can physically do the Camel; I just can’t do it without regurgitating my last meal and passing out. So it’s really a choice that I’ve made, and that means I’m owning my failure. But the Crow! The damn Crow. The Crow haunts my dreams and turns them into nightmares.
This guy is making it look easy, but it’s not. I’m convinced my inability to do this pose has something to do with my head/hair, which is quite large, because of the huge brains. And it’s doubtful I will ever be able to do it, because to learn it, I have to practice it, and practicing this move could kill me. If you screw up most yoga poses, you fall on your butt. If you screw up this one, you fall forward, head first, and unless you are Flash Gordon, your arms can’t get in front of you fast enough to break your fall. As my friend Kathryn says, she prefers her nose unbroken. As do I. So the stakes feel high.
I learned exactly how high the stakes are when Tom caught me practicing the move in our bedroom. After asking what I was doing, he said, “Oh, the Crow, I can do that sh*t,” and then proceeded to hold the pose for .08 seconds before falling forward and skidding about 12 feet on the fir floors, on his FACE. I don’t know how it felt, but it looked really bad. You know, this story actually tells you all you need to know about Tom, whose sole experience with yoga consists of a free ten-day trial completed a year ago, the highlight of which was the class in which he fell into a deep slumber during shavasana and began snoring. I know it happened because I was there, having spent most of the class trying to avoid getting kicked by one of his flailing white legs. Despite his limited experience, Tom assumed he could just rock up into the Crow without having to work for it. The balls on that dude. I am in awe.
But therein lies the lesson. Because, of course, I’ve not worked at it either. In this age of immediate gratification, it feels odd to be unable to achieve something that appears so readily achievable. I’m not giving up. I’ve got a mound of pillows set up in my carpeted closet and motivation in spades, thanks to my coworker Josh Ross (at top), who can do the Crow. Josh Ross, for the record, can barely touch his toes. If Josh Ross can do the Crow, I can do the damn Crow. I mean, I’m Asian. Yoga is (South) Asian. I simply refuse to accept the idea of a universe in which Josh Ross can do the Crow and I can’t.
One day there’s going to be a post on this blog with nothing in it but a photo of me doing the Crow. In yoga speak, I’m setting my intention. So stay tuned.