Nine Years

It was today nine years ago when I went to my first Ashtanga Yoga class. I did a month long “intensive;” an hour and half a day, five days a week, 6:00 to 7:30 AM, with Satya (then Catherine) Garrigues, learning a little over half of the primary series.

Afterwards, I just kept going and here it is, almost a decade later, and I’m still going to the Ashtanga Yoga School on the order of 3 or 4 times a week while practicing at home the other days, usually getting in some selection of asanas six days out of seven except when there’s a full or new moon, on which ashtangis traditionally take the day off.

After all this time, I’m still a novice, although I’ve come a long way from where I was originally. Starting out, I couldn’t even sit in lotus whereas now, I can do so upside-down with my legs over my head, knees touching my chin, a pose called pindasana, which, I think, means something like womb pose. (I know I often feel like a baby when I’m in it.)

To say that Ashtanga has changed my life would probably be something of an overstatement; still, I have modified a number of my behaviors as a result of becoming serious about it. It didn’t take me long, for instance, to curtail my liquor consumption somewhat. (Few things feel worse than sweating through ten sun salutations with a raging hangover.) I also tend to go to bed earlier than I used to; I’ve always been kind of a morning person, but now that morning is often 5:30AM for me; it’s made 10:00PM much later.)

I plan to still be doing Ashtanga nine years from now, but we’ll see. If I improve as much from now until then as I did in the previous passage of time, I’d be very amazed. If I still can touch my toes at age 59, though, I’ll be pleased.