Tuesday, November 4, 2008

JOURNEY OF A TEENY YOGINI, PART 3 OF 7

I’ve been practicing in a class setting three to five days a week for four and a half years now (back then, it was 3 years), and I love that in the time most college students achieve competency in their various fields to the tune of a diploma, I am still learning and growing my practice. And were I offered one, I’d refuse a diploma, claiming ineptitude—there is still so much to learn. And I’m learning it. I’ve developed more skill in the last year than in the previous three combined.

So after a year and a half at my current studio, to supplement my practice, I went back to that first Ashtanga teacher.

I felt I was ready for and was excited about the ass-kicking I knew I would get.

And as luck would have it (for sometimes luck is mean and nasty), I was the only student in that Thursday evening class. Just me and the teacher with the yoga body. You know the one.


When I got home that evening, I gushed to The Husband how incredible she was.

She wore jeans! I exclaimed. He was confused. What’s so great about that? She was so comfortable in her practice that she could come off the street and teach a class in everyday garb.

Do keep in mind though that traditional Ashtanga teachers, comfortable and experienced, roam. They don’t perform the poses on a mat in the front of the room. If it’s an intermediate to advanced class, they expect the students to know the postures and cue as they walk around and adjust the students’ poses.

Now just because she was in street clothes didn’t mean that she didn’t demo poses when I needed them. No siree, she plopped onto the planked floor, sans mat, to show me what my feet were doing when I moved from Chaturanga to Up Dog. And then to show me what they ought to be doing. A goddess. A bona fide yogini.

And just as hard as she was a year and a half ago.

2 comments:

Andrea said...

He he...you said ass!

bird on the lawn said...

true true of yoga that it is something that can be discovered new every time.