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I’m not saying that I’ve taken up chair yoga. But sometimes, I do yoga with a chair.
This is a new exercise experience linked to an excellent yoga instructor at my gym whose classes have become an addiction. She insists that working with a chair, occasionally, is for everybody, not just seniors. (This may be true as there are folks in her class in their 40s and 50s and one of them is even a man.) Regardless, the fact that I did not stand up and walk directly out of the class when the chair appeared suggests my approach to exercise has changed.
I never thought this would happen. For 30 years, I was a runner, and the thought of exercise that didn’t involve sweaty, red-faced panting up a hill over the lunch hour was unthinkable. In those days, exercise was another form of accomplishment that had to be shoehorned into an already uncomfortably tight schedule. My frenzied time on life’s treadmill was more than a metaphor, it was really a treadmill and for quite some time I adhered faithfully to the school of no pain, no gain.
That’s not to say there was not pleasure to be found in running, especially outside in Edmonton’s glorious river valley, which was resplendent in every season and located just blocks from my office. Running was fun, at least that’s how it felt afterwards, but it also worked for me because it took me places, quickly. I was all about the movement, and getting on a path to somewhere else, somewhere better.
By the time I approached 50, though, my feet were giving me trouble. But then there was cycle-fit, which involved churning along on a stationary bike to loud music and even louder exhortations by instructors to keep pushing. When that, too, got hard on various body parts, I focused on Pilates. It built strength while relieving chronic pain. More importantly, it was the first form of exercise that taught me to slow down and to focus on executing moves precisely, with intention.
Looking back over my exercise history, I can see that my body was preparing me for today. At 65, I still push myself physically (tennis has been my passion these past seven years), but gradually, I am spending more time on my mental game. Don’t misunderstand me; this is not about strategizing my next shot or playing cleverly to my opponent’s weakness (truly, sometimes I forget who is serving). Rather, I am thinking more about my body, and how to keep it functioning in a healthy way for as long as possible.
Sure, I would like more spin on my groundstrokes, but off the court, I want to be able to heave a 16-pound turkey in and out of the oven, and to run around the family room playing Scary Kitty (don’t ask) with our six- and eight-year-old granddaughters. This means paying more attention to my back and other increasingly tetchy bits. Yoga has emerged as a way to stretch and tone, but its focus on self-compassion is what’s really resonating with me as I age.
Now, when my shoulders are painfully tight from chopping onions and celery for soup, or my feet burn and throb after too long on the court, I head to the mat for comfort. Firing up my ultrasonic diffuser to fill the basement with a spa-like aroma, I gather yoga props and blankets and turn to YouTube, where my yoga teacher has posted a series of videos for at-home practice. Breathing deeply, I pull my right knee over to the left side of my body for a gentle twist. Later, I teeter into tree pose in an effort to achieve better balance. At the end of the workout, I stretch out in corpse pose (a harbinger?) and pay tender homage to my arthritic joints, revelling gratefully in what my body still allows me to do. Over time, yoga is helping me get comfortable with a different approach to exercise, to achievement, to life. The concept of “less is more” finally makes sense.
And hey, guess what helped get me to this much-appreciated place of peace? My new friend, the chair.
— Liane Faulder writes the Life in the 60s column. [email protected]