Philip Robert

Since arriving in Ashland I've managed to go practice yoga nine times. The most I've done in a row is three days. Such a difference from last year when I started out the year with a 60 day challenge. Going every day and being able to mark off the calendar was a big deal. Getting up and going each day hurt like hell, but ultimately it really paid off.

Now I've done two 60 day challenges and each time when I finished I dropped into a long period of inactivity where yoga was concerned. There is a huge benefit of consistent regular practice. So in an attempt to initiate a more balanced and consistent approach I've begun this practice, not with a goal of doing 60 days straight, but of practicing at least three times a week until Burning Man in August.

So far I seem to be doing a two or three day cycle. Two or Three days of yoga followed by two days of rest. When I first began I was horrified at how out of shape I'd become since March of last year which was the last time that I practiced regularly. I was barely able to get through the entire class let alone hold any of the postures properly. Every muscle and joint screamed in terror. My heart would pound as if trying to escape. My spine would creak as if it were hundreds of years old. Strength would disappear at the first hint of the heat of the room. Will any of it come back? Will I ever get to the place I was before? Can I just get to the end of this class.

I'm at a point now where I really don't want to go into that hot room. I'd really just give it all up and let myself go. Going into that hot room is torture, too much work, too much time... All these excuses wander through my head as I haul myself up and drive to the studio. I walk in anyway, feeling the heat wrap around my body like a warm blanket. Comforting now, before the work begins and it turns into a blast furnace forging softened muscles and ligaments into something stronger, something more resilient. My heart still pounds away and often I find myself dropping to the floor for a moment. Half the time it's real, I need the break, the other half the time its my mind lying to me.

The muscles remember. They know the postures. They know where I can go, where I've been. Recovery is coming rapidly. I'm still far away from being where I was. The fat on my stomach won't disappear so quickly, but it will disappear with diligence and discipline. As my core muscles grow stronger I try to push them harder and they give way. Ease up a bit and let the breath work. Let the breath guide me deeper into each posture. The body knows. Do what the body says. Quiet the mind.

Today was a strong practice and a rough one at the same time. The room was hot with more humidity than usual. The sweat of twenty tortured souls was dripping on the mats. Each posture a study of concentration, effort, angst, and surrender. On some I could go deeper and stronger than anytime in the past two weeks. On others... my body says not today. Today I cannot do this. Maybe tomorrow.

I am home now. Feeling the soreness of my muscles. The soreness that feels so good because I know that I have given myself a gift today. The gift of hard physical work to build up strength, balance, and flexibility. The gift of a strong healthy body which will be ready for the rapids of the Rogue River this summer.

Getting back into this I can feel the truth of Bikram's favorite mantra, Never too late, never to old, never too bad, and never too sick to start all over and begin again from scratch