Thoughts Happen

"It's So Much Harder When You Have to Try"

I love that line, from the track, “Harder” on David Gray’s recent album, Draw the Line. Unfortunately he didn’t play it at his show last week in Valley Center, but it’s kicking around in my brain lately nonetheless.

Because after 43 years on this earth, I’ve discovered that the way I stand is no good. Oh, it served me all right for about the first 41 of those years, but after messing up my neck and having a devil of a time trying to get back to my pre-messed-up-neck state, I finally had someone explain to me in a way that I could understand that my posture is a big part of the problem.

This is not what I wanted to hear. I wanted to hear that there was some device I could use, some manipulation I could undergo or some exercises I could do that would make everything right again so I could finally get back to some of the activities I’ve since given up because they only seem to make things worse.

Activities such as running, which challenges my endurance and years of self-identity as a non-athlete. And yoga, which challenges my mindfulness and my willingness to accept what my body can do right now, today, versus some ideal of what I want it to do. And tennis, which challenges my agility and my willingness to expose myself to competition.

But instead, in addition to using devices, undergoing manipulation and doing exercises, I’ve learned that I need to change the way I stand, the way I walk, and the way I sit — things I’ve done since I was one year old without a second thought. Now I have to try to do them a different way.

My premonition from a year ago, when I walked into the first of two separate orthopedists’ offices in search of answers and heard a voice in the back of my head saying, “Nobody is going to do this for you,” has come true.

At that time I was still hoping there would be a smoking gun, something obvious that had been overlooked in the previous twelve months of physical therapy, chiropractic and other mysterious manipulations. I just needed to find the right professional, who would say, “Well look at that — there’s your problem right there!”

It didn’t happen that way. The first orthopedist seemed irritated with me because my pain didn’t fit any of his predicted patterns, but at least I got an MRI out of him. It didn’t show anything wrong with me. The second orthopedist told me my problem was not nerve-related, which I pretty much knew, and gave me a prescription for pain patches, which I doled out when I couldn’t take it anymore and slapped on my neck and back like a nicotine junkie.

Since then I’ve stumbled across three other professionals, an Alexander Technique instructor, a physiatrist, and a very good physical therapist, who through a combination of diagnostics and treatments have helped me understand that although there is nothing drastically wrong with me, I am going to have to change the way I move in some subtle but fundamental ways to have any lasting effect.

So now I know that there’s no magic bullet. I’m going to have to do this for myself. Damn. It’s so much harder when you have to try.

Photo of steps courtesy macwagen via Creative Commons

Competitive Yoga

Kind of an oxymoron, huh? While I was in the first yoga class I’d taken in three months this morning, however, I realized that I have been practicing a form of Competitive Yoga for some time.

I’ve been taking yoga classes off and on, but mostly on, for over 11 years now, so I’m no newcomer. And maybe that’s the reason I started getting a little smug. I’ll admit to sneaking a peek out of the corner of my eye at how well others were doing during standing bow-pulling pose—I could raise my foot so I could see it peek out over my head in the mirror—could they? (Of course, usually when I peeked was when I would lose my balance altogether and have to start over. Figures.) And during camel pose, no wimpy hands-supporting-the-middle-back half-assed pose for me—it was full-on grab-your ankles camel or nothing, baby. 

During one particular back-bending pose the instructor always prefaces with “If you have a sensitive lower back, please support your lower back with your hands, otherwise keep your arms over your head.” I’ll admit to being very proud of myself for keeping my arms raised the entire time, thank you very much. 

But that was Before. As in Before May 14th, when I torqued my neck in a beginner’s doubles tennis game (that’s a whole ‘nother story) so badly that it left me impaired to the point that I spent many days doing nothing but sitting still at home. And I mean literally sitting still. Sitting or lying on my back on the floor with a heating pad around my neck. No driving. No cooking. No reading. No using the computer. No nothing but listening to books on tape or sitting. Lots of sitting. At least my meditation training came in handy.

It drove me crazy, but I learned a lot about myself during that time. Lots of lessons about Who am I if I can’t do my Stuff. After many weeks of physical therapy I finally felt ready to get back into some of my Stuff, which included yoga. I went to my regular class and made it about halfway through when I realized it was a bad idea. Setback. More weeks of PT. 

Then by the end of summer I finally felt completely recovered. Started tennis again. Started yoga—a new class. Bad idea. I was so ecstatic to be Exercising Me again that I ignored the signs my body was desperately trying to shove in my face. Setback. Not as bad as my initial injury, but bad enough to send me back to PT for a recovery that has been agonizingly slow. 

As the end of my latest round of therapy neared, I thought I might be ready to start yoga again. The stiffness that was creeping down my back and causing peripheral aches and pains seemingly unrelated to the initial injury might be relieved by the flexibility I gain from yoga. 

So I went back to my regular class this morning—smarter this time. When the instructor intoned about lower back issues, I gratefully supported myself while doing a gentle backbend. While the rest of the class was doing standing bow-pulling pose, I stayed at the beginner’s level, remaining upright. No triangle pose for me—I opted for Warrior II instead. And camel? Fuggetabout it. I rested in child’s pose.

During the class I remembered a favorite yoga quote, from Cyndi Lee of Om Yoga. On one of her Instructional CDs she cheerily reminds us, "Don't worry about being perfect, because at the same time you never will be—you already are." She is also the first teacher I’ve heard explicitly state that the basic principle of yoga is ahimsa, or nonviolence, meaning no competing with yourself or anyone else. You are to work with the body and mind that you have today. Not last May. Not next month. Right now.

So I was proud of myself but with a whole different mindset today. I managed to get through an entire yoga class without hurting myself. I’d call that progress, wouldn’t you?