Injured Ashtanga
It’s always interesting—and I mean that in the way of the curse, “You should live in interesting times”—practicing the day after I’ve hurt myself. I get to see how much I rely on different parts of my body in getting in various poses, or, as Mom used to say the day after a long day of skiing, I get to “feel muscles I didn’t even know I had,”
So, for instance, I got to realize today how much I rely on my wrist not only in the obvious asanas like chaturanga dandasana and backbends, but also in stepping into Warrior or in setting up most of the twists.
This has happened to me before; the sprained wrist following a bike crash is an injury I’m familiar with. You’d think I’d have learned by now not to throw my hands out in front of me when I’m falling, but I guess it beats a broken clavicle.
I’m willing to be philosophical about it and use the recovery period as a learning experience (what other choice do I have?), but what I can’t seem to do is let go of considering alternative scenarios wherein I didn’t go tits-over-teakettle yesterday.
Right before my wreck, I was riding with my colleague from school, having a nice chat about pedagogy and poetry. But since he’s a faster rider than me and I always feel like I’m slowing him down, I cut off onto the shortcut so he could resume hammering solo. So, if only my ego hadn’t been trying to kill me there, I wouldn’t be in my current (somewhat) sorry state.
On the other hand, if my mom and dad had never met, I wouldn’t even have been born, which—according to Woody Allen quoting Sophocles—my be the “greatest boon of all.”
I disagree; the unborn don’t get to ride bikes, and even with the occasional crash, doing so is easily in my top ten of all boons.
So, for instance, I got to realize today how much I rely on my wrist not only in the obvious asanas like chaturanga dandasana and backbends, but also in stepping into Warrior or in setting up most of the twists.
This has happened to me before; the sprained wrist following a bike crash is an injury I’m familiar with. You’d think I’d have learned by now not to throw my hands out in front of me when I’m falling, but I guess it beats a broken clavicle.
I’m willing to be philosophical about it and use the recovery period as a learning experience (what other choice do I have?), but what I can’t seem to do is let go of considering alternative scenarios wherein I didn’t go tits-over-teakettle yesterday.
Right before my wreck, I was riding with my colleague from school, having a nice chat about pedagogy and poetry. But since he’s a faster rider than me and I always feel like I’m slowing him down, I cut off onto the shortcut so he could resume hammering solo. So, if only my ego hadn’t been trying to kill me there, I wouldn’t be in my current (somewhat) sorry state.
On the other hand, if my mom and dad had never met, I wouldn’t even have been born, which—according to Woody Allen quoting Sophocles—my be the “greatest boon of all.”
I disagree; the unborn don’t get to ride bikes, and even with the occasional crash, doing so is easily in my top ten of all boons.
posted by Professor Dave at 9:00 AM
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