The war of savasana

No war. Not in my 20s, 30s, 40s. Now in my 50s every savasana (corpse pose, natch) is a battleground. Once the position’s been all assumed and everything and the instructor’s voice has begun to waft through the room, weariness wafts with it.

Oh, and I’m told I snore. Not loudly like a chainsaw but at a mid-volume like a diesel engine through a wall. Though without that dysentery sound diesel engines make.

This is the battle – I must combat this weariness. I set up a beachhead by opening my eyes wider without opening the lids. I probably look insane, raising and lowering my eyebrows as if I don’t quite believe the instructor’s instructions. Then I survey the surrounding dunes and brush for telltale signs of the enemy. A missed instruction, a falling sensation, a sleep spasm, these must be taken out if glimpsed by the sniper fire of my attention. I rock my hips, squeeze my PCC muscle, I know, it’s not relaxing but my mission is to relax only to the point where I don’t nod off. It’s a balancing act.

The wafting voice goes like this. “Your knee, the ligaments and kneecap, the tendons, relax them. Your left thigh, let it soften, the muscles, bones, gristle, relax them. The left hip, breathe into the hip. Your chin, jaw, neck, soften them, calm them, relax them.” I try to convince myself the instructor got confused and left out the entire torso, both arms and most of the head. I know that’s not what happened.

We sit up, say “namaste” and start packing our gear, another battle lost. I turn to my neighbour and ask:

“Did I snore?”

So excited was I on a retreat …

So excited was I on a retreat …

… that I said to the trainers over lunch I wish I could do yoga for four hours a day every day.

Why on earth asked one.

Thinking quickly and feeling foolish I rushed Oh just for a few months till I got really er accomplished.

Ah she said of course that would be good.

The Upward Bow Poses

Urdva Dhanurasana, upward bow. The book suggests that you do more than one – they get easier! The book has lots of ideas about rising onto your head, then lifting into the pose. The book shows more advanced ways of getting in. The book suggests repeating 3-6 times (see note 0). But the book wasn’t written by a person who lives in his head and isn’t quite sure where any part of his body is at any moment: have you seen me dance?

Anyhow. Do forearm balance, make a camel, pretend you’re a locust, that’s enough preparation, I’m ready to go.

These are my upward bow poses.

The first is the miracle, the amazed reminder I can actually do these poses that terrified me for twenty years (see note 1).

The second is the fixer, remembering the things that didn’t feel right when I did the first one all that long long minute ago (note 2).

The third is the expected one: I know I can do three, I also know I can stop at three. It’s the target upward bow pose, anything more being gravy, anything less a little disappointing. The third is a little deeper and stronger (note 3).

The fourth is the first bonus multiplier extra ball (note 4), and can be followed by a giggle like the giggle after a chiropractor cracks my neck.

The fifth is rare (see note 5).

The sixth is the miracle (note 6).

Time for a seated twist!

Notes:

0. Does that mean altogether do 4-7 poses? I wish they were clearer.

1: And still terrifies me today, until I go up that first time.

2. This is the simplest one.

3. And yet ironically shakier, reminding me I shouldn’t bet on making it to six.

4. Pinball reference.

5. Yet it’s my ego booster. I can announce to my lovely love: I did five today! Five!

6. Again.

Ancillary pleasure of yoga part 1

Settling into the first pose – and breathing out with my whole body.

A student, generally a modest one, who does the poses with such finesse you can’t help being inspired.

Knowing how to set up for a pose.

The whole class doing ujjayi breathing – a sound of harmony – or is it a sound – perhaps it’s someone harmonising with me.

The day not a single balance goes right.

The line dancing class next door starting up at 6.30pm.

Giving over the money for a term.

Fifteen bleary, quiet, early morning students arriving. No one talking.

Coming out of a pose and realising a late-comer has set up, quietly, seamlessly, beside you.

The sudden shocking unexpected left-field and utterly accurate reminder to breathe.

No Yogi Knows…

… whether this coming triangle pose will be what is required until he has moved into position. Nor whether the pose on the other side will also be what is needed. Nor whether today is really the day for forward bends. Nor whether there is a message hidden in the secret folds of tendons and ligaments that are stretched by this twist.

Beer O’Clock Is Yoga O’Clock

Do you remember how loose and floppy you feel when you’ve taken magic mushrooms?

Needing a beer and needing yoga in equal amounts (I have a penis) I decided to experiment by doing both. I opened a Coopers red and pulled out the yoga blue (mat) and one of the books I use to give me yoga ideas without having to do any actual thinking at all, and started. Suck on the amber, shift into Tadasana. Suck on the amber, do a dog pose. Suck on the amber,  check the book, ah, move into good ol’ Tricky Asana.

Yeah, I could cope with this. I have to admit that I didn’t have the wherewithal to get the boys to take a photo of me – that would have been sensible. While I was moving into Warrior I pose, I suddenly had an insight into how I could make a script I was editing come to life. Of course! Suck on the amber, get down into ustrasana.

I think I was expecting to do worse than I did. But that magic mushroom floopness meant I had enough disinhibition to be relaxed and not so much that I would vomit over the fireplace as I came out of reverse trikonasana. So I almost leapt into a couple of backbends.

The greatest challenges were the inversions. Unsurprisingly, frothy sugary alcoholic beverages don’t like being turned upside-down in a human body. I decided a third backbend was untenable: I’m not Wonder Woman, to quote Bernard Black.

Suck on some more and – oh what the fuck, I thought I might as well finish the routine. Headstand. Not my best idea. Shoulderstand. I should have listened to my body after headstand. Halasana (you can picture that one yourself, you’re upside-down AND you’re kind of creasing your tummy and resting your toes on the floor).

The irony is: I only had one beer. We yogic lads are a little poofy. I decided against corpse pose. Not wasted enough.

Would I do it again? Yes, but I’d really have to have some Red Hot Chilli Peppers playing. And maybe try a martini.