Slightly weird but enlightened

I am not at all an exercise person—the only two times I ever exercised, I had a serious short-term reason for it. When I was in college, I had to take a PE class, so I signed up for tennis, and believe me, it was one of the most embarrassing displays of a lack of grace and coordination that you might ever have had the opportunity to witness. Now I give my students in class all the time the example of how practice might not make you ultimately fabulous at a thing like writing, but can certainly help you improve: me in tennis. It was so awful I thought I’d lose my scholarship when my grades came in (fortunately not).

The second time was when I was pregnant with Laura and took prenatal aerobics for him (poor Will. I was so queasy with him I just laid on the couch for months). I had never attended aerobics classes before, because I didn’t want to be the clumsy slow one in the room full of scarily beautiful people—I used to Jazzercise secretly at home, just because my mother had the album and I like the music. But everything changed when I got pregnant. I found pregnancy a thrilling and terrifying thing. Women are used to having their bodies do odd things, on the whole, what with menstrual cycles, but pregnancy will really let you know that there is just no way in the world you are in charge of that body, babe. There’s so little control over the experience that I thought I had to maintain what little I could. I gave up caffeine and drank water by the gallon and started exercise classes, even though I didn’t want to. But prenatal aerobics are wonderful—everyone is getting big! Everyone is clumsy because joints are loosening everywhere you look! Sure, somebody in the room’ll be nine months pregnant and look like you do at five months, but all the women are so preoccupied with their Braxton-Hicks contractions or glucose tests or cervical mucous that nobody really cares. And you have a ready-made friend in the class—the mother whose due date is closest to yours (preferably just ahead of you, so you can have the benefit of her experience). I loved prenatal aerobics—and I quit it after Laura was born.

I finally got to my first yoga class last night, after trying all through Christmas and then missing what should have been my first night last week when Chris had his accident. I suppose this officially represents my first effort at organized exercise in ten years. But I’m not really going to yoga for exercise, anyhow. I am sick of working non-stop, at home, at work. I never have any time alone. And one hour a week will be my time away from all those things. Fortunately, it looks like I’ve landed in the perfect class. I’d always heard that yoga was supposed to reduce stress, and boy did it ever. It felt wonderful to stretch and breathe, although I am still just as uncoordinated as ever, exhaling when I was supposed to be inhaling and whatnot. I especially loved being in the classroom space, the Arts Council main gallery. Every time I needed a focal point, there was a painting in front of me. The gallery’s in an old restored downtown building, and the ceiling has beautiful plaster designs in the tiles. Really, you spend not inconsiderable amounts of time looking at ceilings during yoga. Very relaxing dim lights and—well, I do have to admit the new age music was pretty awful, but I didn’t really hear it after a while anyhow, which I guess must be the idea. I hear that yoga is becoming less new age and more mainstream—although the photo of the guy on the package of my yoga mat didn’t really suggest that to me—but I’m not sure. For now it feels like one more step down the path of the slightly weird but enlightened. Not that I had much farther to go anyhow. I can’t wait til next Tuesday.