Monday, October 8, 2012
Yoga, Aspergers and remembering my Mum
Yoga books used to turn up in odd places in my childhood home. My Mum was a yoga teacher, and she was always studying and planning new classes, always trying to improve the experience for her pupils. Yet despite her style and elegance, I associated yoga with floaty skirts, big hair, unshaven legs and jangly earrings on women of a certain age. I even went to one of her yoga classes. She was great, but yoga seemed a very slow activity to a teenager like me who lived life at about 100 miles an hour. I decided that yoga was not for me. But as I've got older, more and more of my friends are eulogising yoga, and I began to wonder if I should give it another try. It crossed my mind again when my son came home with his one bonus mark so far this term: for attending a yoga class. "It was good," he said.
Still, I was surprised when I found myself circling around a strange school car park last Tuesday, looking for a space. A woman I've only met once had included me in a group text about the yoga class and, as I was not feeling calm, trying it out seemed to be a good plan.
There were no signs for the class, and only the presence of anther punter self-consciously clutching a yoga mat by the door told me that I must be in the right place.
The women arrives in ones and twos, filled in forms, and arranged the room under the supervision of the teacher - who is a great ad for yoga!
There was no whale music, no scary clothes or designer water. It was just friendly and relaxing. And it did achieve something. I was trapped, but in a good way. I couldn't get at my 'to do' list. It wasn't like a night out or a run that I could cut short and rush back, because the longer I stay away from the house, the more things pile up. I could hardly disturb the relaxing ladies and clamber over them to get to the door, now could I? I just had to stay where I was, do what I was told, and relax.
So now I'm counting down the hours till the next class. And I must resist the temptation to get the mat beside the door...