Savasana

Recently, I taught yoga to a group of competitive male athletes.

This was a treat because they were all about the same age (early 20s) with similar complaints (tight hamstrings, glutes, shoulders, and calves). Unlike a more mixed level/mixed age class, I could better plan around their universal needs.

Then they threw me a curve ball.  A few of the braver, more vocal men said, “Nothing too hard,” a comment that contradicted my ideas of big, strong, sweaty guys wanting an equally big, strong, sweaty guy workout. “Their legs are going to be pretty sore,” the coach explained. Still, my first ideas were to throw in some standing revolved twists, something that would pull the sweat from their pores.

When they groaned on the first move, urdva hastasana (upward salute), I knew that, unlike my general population classes, these guys really needed to take it easy, even though they could do anything I gave them.

After a few slow sun salutes and warriors, we came to the ground for back bending, twists, and forward bending.

When we got to savasana, I was sad I’d given them only three minutes. These poor overachieving guys were tired, not just from their sport but from the mindset of excellence.

In my opinion, savasana is the hardest pose of all. The heart of our practice — which differs day-to-day — is how/if we allow that movement  into stillness.

Some people need the hard workout as permission to lie down. Others could go right to it. In listening to the breath, we movers monitor ourselves against “too much.”

Win by Doing Nothing

Action happened while doing nothing this weekend at Yoga Works Restorative Teacher Training with Jillian Pransky.

During class introductions, I mentioned that I am a go-go-go person newly aware of stress in my thoughts and body, particularly when I take restorative yoga. I mentioned that with nothing to do, my brain goes into overdrive. I watch my brain trying to make me move. It takes at least 10 minutes, the average length of each pose, for me to believe that the ground will support me. It takes at least 10 minutes for my muscles to finally ungrip. She asked if I was attending the next weekend: Part II of the workshop.

“I can’t afford it,” I said.

Jillian said that most New Yorkers are in fight or flight overdrive, which gives us that addictive and pleasurable kick of adrenoline. During each of these interludes, we either run from or run into a situation without much thought. Meanwhile, our non-essential systems – like reproduction and immunity – shut down, so that we can use all of our energy to respond to one problem. At first, the rush of chemicals gives us clarity. Overtime, our sympathetic nervous system is overstimulated. The result is muscle fatigue, injury, or disease.

The goal of restorative yoga is to tap into the parasympathetic nervous system more often to create a blueprint of stress-free clarity. The more times we practice relaxation, the more times we think clearly in our waking, breathing, working lives.
During one of the poses, she asked us to mentally untie our legs from our body. Immediately, I felt a sense of release. It was more pleasurable and deep than most high lunges. When I shared my experience with her, she mentioned that New Yorkers don’t trust good things, especially when they’re free.

As a personal illustration, a fellow student came up to me during the break and asked if I wanted to take her spot for next weekend’s teacher training. She said she had a wedding and could only attend one day. “Can you take my place and take notes for me?” she asked. My first reaction was, “That’s okay” because I’m trained not to trust good things.

My spoken reaction was, “Is it okay with the front desk?” Then it was, “Wow, what a gift. Thank you so much.”