Tag Archives: Yoga
Yoga Here and Yoga There
Summer is busy. This week, my lovely man did a yoga session on a sheet of plywood covered by a raincoat. He said it was great.
I have done handstands in my office, downward dogs on an enormous rock by the lake, and side planks at the public library while waiting for a meeting to begin. I sneak yoga while waiting for my car to be repaired.
And I would do it in the park
and I would do it in the dark
and I would do it on a rock
and I would do it on a dock
Yesterday I hung in a forward bend at the grocery store while looking at cans of tuna on the bottom shelf. No one said a word. I was there for ages.
Where will yoga show up next? Where is your favorite place to sneak it in to your day?
Thanks to yoga for being so delicious that we want to sneak it here and there, we want to sneak it everywhere, and thanks to you for the conversation.
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, speaker, and workshop wonderwoman in North Bay, Ontario. Join her at kristinshepherd.ca or on Facebook at Dr. Kristin Shepherd.
Home Practice or Studio?
This morning, I talked with my lovely man about all of your comments on home practice vs. yoga classes.
We love both, but he feels pretty strongly about his class last night. He’s been working like a Tasmanian Devil this week and found it beautiful to go to his yin yoga class, during which they are now holding some of their poses for 15 minutes. (Holy moly! Might as well ask me to fly across the Atlantic. Without a plane, I mean.)
“What about my face?” he asks. “How could I remember to relax my jaw without prompting? And my eyes, how do I let those go? Oh, and my throat, I love it when she reminds me to relax my throat. And Savasana is so good when someone else is in charge.”
This is the reason I’m going to class at lunch today. There is something wonderful and easy about receiving the practice. Yes, I’m doing the work, and making all the personal choices about how much, how far, how strenuous or not. But, oh, how lovely it is, sometimes, to have my mind settled into each moment of each asana, rather than wondering what I’ll do next, jeez, there’s the dog at the door wanting a walk, woops, that’s my dad on the phone, and all of that.
It’s as though, in class, they take me by the hand and just walk me down a path through the woods. I don’t have to choose the path or check my directions or wonder what’s ahead.
Just hold the hand and walk.
That sounds good to me today. How about you?
Thanks to yoga for being so many things to so many people, and thanks to you for the conversation.
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, speaker, and workshop wonderwoman in North Bay, Ontario. Join her at kristinshepherd.ca or on Facebook at Dr. Kristin Shepherd.
Questions for Yogi Experts
1.Do your hamstrings become close to the same length at any point?
2. Have you found clothes that contain your gut while doing Downward Dog? (Perhaps you don’t have a gut anymore.)
3. How long did it take you to get the bandha thing going?
4. (This is directly related to #3) Can you lift your bum and legs off the ground when doing Uttitha Padmasana? How long did it take you to learn that? (Are your arms disproportionately long by any chance?)
5. Has anyone ever snapped a hip in two doing Pigeon Pose?
6. Do you like yourself more, now, than you did before starting yoga? (I do, for the most part. Something to do with the daily determination to be kind to myself, I suspect.)
7. Do you fantasize about teaching yoga? Classes at sunrise? In temples? In India? (If you currently teach yoga in temples in India, do you fantasize about teaching yoga at sunset in Machu Picchu?) I do. I have long, flowing hair and long, flowing hamstrings in these fantasies.
8. Does yoga elbow its way into all of your conversations? (For example, your dentist says you need to replace a crown. You say, that reminds me of forward bends in class today. Your dentist doesn’t understand.) Most of the people in my life hope this wears off at some point.
9. Do you still love it? As much as you did when you were new?
That last one is the one that matters to me most. I’d love to hear that it’s possible to love this for the rest of my life.
Thanks to yoga for inspiring questions, and thanks to you for the conversation.
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Tagged health, health care, kristin shepherd, Yoga, yoga humor
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Champion Yogis
I think yoga is a sport, just like the World Cup. Hear me out.
Tuesday was one of those days. I love yoga, love my home practice, love class, but there are some days, some weeks, even, when it all goes off the rails.
This is one of those weeks. I’ve been in hotels two weekends in a row, I’ve seen my share of drive-through windows over those weekends, and my hotel practice has been less thorough than my home practice. I’ve been away so much that my dog rolls her eyes when I come home.
The result is that my body and spirit are tired, chunky, and unsociable.
It took Olympian determination to get myself to yoga class on Tuesday. It was touch-and-go all morning. I kept thinking, “I can go home for a break, I can eat, I can read, I can get some work done, I can sit here and stare out the window for an hour.” Most of these options looked much more appealing than going to class.
(It’s possible some of you never feel this way. I am determined to like you anyway.)
By the grace of Whatever, I get changed, get in my car, and drive to the studio. I lie down, and almost immediately I could cry, I am so happy. Class starts. My left hamstrings have shrunk considerably over the weekend, somehow, I have NO balance, my thighs and rear end burst at the inadequate seams of my formerly roomy yoga pants, and still there is no place I’d rather be.
This is where the World Cup comes in.
When we go to class on these days, I think our teachers should welcome us at the door with big, glossy medals.
“Would you like a medal today?”
“Yes,” I’d say.
“Bronze, silver or gold?”
“Are you joking? Do you have any idea how far I’ve come today?The French fries and pizza I have overcome, the hotel coffee, the hours in the car, the dog’s face, and lethargy the size of an oil spill? Give me the gold, absolutely. I am the champion of the world today.”
There are days when we should all have medals around our necks.
Thanks to yoga for making me show up, and thanks to you for the conversation.
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, writer, and workshop wonderwoman in North Bay, Ontario. Join her at kristinshepherd.ca or on Facebook at Dr. KristinShepherd.
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Tagged health, health care, kristin shepherd, Yoga, yoga humor
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An Earth Moving Experience
Two fantastic things occurred over the last 24 hours.
1. We experienced an earthquake yesterday. Very exciting. It lasted 26 seconds. The dog growled for a few seconds, and the antennae on the TV shook for a full minute. In fact, the quake shook much of the province, which was wonderful, because it led to phone calls with my mother in Ottawa and my sister in Toronto. It’s the kind of thing everyone wants to talk about.
2. I tried naked yoga this morning. My goal was to last longer than 26 seconds. There is no doubt I was shaken more by the naked yoga than the quake.
If you haven’t tried it, if your dad is British, say, and you’re uneasy in short sleeves, if you wear flannel clown pants to bed every night and peel your socks off during the middle of the night as you become unbearably hot–if you do all of that–well, we can talk. (If this isn’t you and you’re the type who goes naked to the movies, you have no idea what I’m talking about. In my next life I’ll be just like you.)
The first 26 seconds are spent dismayed by the complex surface of my thighs, which look as though they have undergone several earthquakes of their own.
Then I forget about them, perhaps because it is hotter this morning than it’s been all summer, and as humid as cottage cheese. My first forward bend makes me sweat.
I make it to 40 minutes, naked. I put my clown pants back on for seated postures, to avoid rug burn, I say to myself. I conclude that this naked thing is no big deal.
And then something unexpected happens.
I move off the rug and onto the wood floor for Savasana. And, oh, oh, oh, the floor is as cool as ice cream on my poached back, so cool that I take my clown pants off again for the last couple of minutes. I press my low back into the floor and when I relax it makes a deep, suction-y, rumbling, farting sound that is the best thing I have EVER heard during my practice.
A soft, funny earthquake of my very own.
I am CERTAIN you have things to teach me about your naked (or not) home practice. My ears are quaking.
Thanks to earthquakes, to cool floors, and to you for the conversation.
Join Kristin at kristinshepherd.ca or on Facebook at http://kristinshepherd.ca
The Sounds of Yoga
The sigh with the first sip of coffee.
The click of my mug when I set it on the coffee table.
The grunt when I realize my left hamstrings are still half the length of my right hamstrings.
Ujjayi breathing, when I remember to do it.
Seagulls squawking outside.
The yeah! yeah! yeah! I say under my breath with my handstand and anything resembling a back bend.
Heaving groans that ease their way into regular breaths during side twists.
The big, fat sighs that settle me into Savasana.
Shanti, shanti, shanti, which I whisper to the lake (don’t know why I whisper at home). The tickety-tickety-tickety of Rosie, my dog, who hears me whisper and comes to join me after her own upward dog, downward dog series.
It’s worth it just for the sounds, isn’t it?
What are your favorites?
Thanks to yoga for the sounds and thanks to you for the conversation.
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, writer, and workshop wonderwoman in North Bay, Ontario. Please join me at kristinshepherd.ca or on Facebook at Dr. KristinShepherd.
Everything Starts Again Now
Years ago, a friend named Tracy offered me an acting tip that has become part of every on-and-off-stage day of my life. It also affects my yoga.
We were in a play called Good Night Desdemona. I had to travel through time each night by disappearing through an absurdly small garbage can into, well, into the past to meet both Desdemona and Juliet. I climbed towers, faught with swords, was nearly strangled by Desdemona, and iambic pentameter-ed my way through seven enormous monologues that would have humbled Hamlet. It was a monster of a challenge.
On more than one night, I cursed myself for getting something wrong–missing lines, breaking my sword (tough to fight convincingly with a sword stump), not projecting my lines from under the pillow Desdemona used to suffocate me, etc.
One night, Tracy (Desdemona) heard me whacking myself to smithereens at intermission.
“No way,” she said. Gotta stop that.
She said we can’t afford to criticize ourselves. It takes us out of our story, out of our best skills, and it ruins our relationship with other actors and our audience. It ruins our relationship with everything to come.
Practice instant forgiveness, she says. It’s the best tool there is for an actor. Everything starts again now.
This morning, in a seated forward bend, I thought, holy Toledo, my hamstrings are tight. Not enough yoga and too many butter tarts yesterday. (I don’t see the relationship between the two, now, but they felt completely connected this morning.)
And right behind it, like a great actor on cue, I thought; instant forgiveness, honey. Everything starts again now. Which saved the show.
Thanks to Tracy for the acting lesson, and thanks to you for the conversation.
Kristin practices yoga, theatre, public speaking, writing, and chiropractic in North Bay, Ontario, at kristinshepherd.ca and at Dr. Kristin Shepherd on Facebook.
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Union
I love yoga because of its solitary nature.
An early morning coffee, my lovely man and dog still in bed, me shuffling to the living room in pajama pants and a t-shirt. Darkness in winter, green grass and blue lake in front of me in summer. This is good, good, good.
The other side of this is that I often have elaborate get-togethers during my practice. This morning was like this.
My daughter is in China. I miss her beautiful face. So, during Warrior II, I reach my fingertips forward and back and imagine my arms growing, circling the world until I can hold her face with both hands.
In seated forward bends, I think of one of my best friends, Riesa, who lives on the other side of the country. She taught me some of my favorite forward bends ten years ago. I miss her voice today.
My mom shows up when I’m trying to open my hips. I suspect we’d both love to be more flexible with each other.
And at the end of my practice, when the time comes to offer the fruits of practice to someone who might benefit (we do this in class, sometimes), I send my love and thanks to Nancy, a theater friend who passed away recently. She was still here when I came back to yoga 8 or 9 months ago. I got into the habit of sending her strength and courage and just kept on after she passed away. My hope is she’s out there somewhere, happy to receive the love.
Who knew home practice could be such a gathering place?
It also makes me wonder who you’re with when you practice. I’d love to hear.
Thanks to yoga for uniting us all, and thanks to you for the conversation.
Kristin Shepherd practices yoga, theatre, public speaking, writing, and chiropractic in North Bay, Ontario. Contact her at kristinshepherd.ca and at Dr. Kristin Shepherd on Facebook.
I am Invincible
I can do a handstand! I’m 48 and I’ve never said that before.
We learned in class the other day. Rob said to try it if you’re ready, and I thought, no way, that’s not going to happen for me. Like playing in the NBA, like leaping from the Eiffel Tower and landing on two feet, like flying to Mars. That’s where handstands belonged for me.
Then. We discuss. We prepare. We approach. We inhale one foot up, and exhale the other up. Okay, I have to fling mine up.) First try, no go. Which is understandable because it’s about 75 miles from the floor to the wall when you’re upside down.
Second try, same thing. Third try, same thing. Then Rob comes over to help. Just slightly, by showing my feet where the wall is.
“Look at a point on the floor between your hands this time,” he says.
And on my fifth try, I fly to Mars. I swear to God, that’s what it feels like. And yes, my ribs are half way across the room, and yes, I need to reach with my heels. I need to do about 300 things to improve my form, but I DID IT!!!!!! The NBA, the Eiffel Tower. A handstand.
I read somewhere in Yoga Journal that a Handstand can change your life–they’re right! It has. I feel invincible.
Have you tried? Do you hope to? Is this old hat for you? Do you love it? Tell me, please.
Thanks to handstand for changing my life, and thanks to you for the conversation.
Kristin Shepherd lives in North Bay, Ontario. She is a chiropractor, workshop facilitator, actor, writer, and parent of two grown children and a perpetually infantile dog. Check her out at kristinshepherd.ca or on Facebook at Dr. Kristin Shepherd.
Missing Class
I’ve been away from yoga class for almost two weeks. Granted, I’ve done lots of practice in hotels, other people’s basements, and on the deck of a cottage in beautiful morning sun, but jeepers, I miss class.
This morning someone asked me if I have a dog.
“Do you like yoga?” I replied.
“No,” she said. “What does that have to do with a dog?”
“Nothing at all. It’s just the only thing I can think of right now.”
I have lots of these conversations when I’ve been away from class.
I miss my teachers, who are kind and excellent at what they do, and funny while they’re at it.
I miss the other students, most of whom are strangers to me, all of whom love what I love and are therefore friends of a kind.
I miss the sound of people breathing in unison.
I miss the gorgeous, quiet yoga music they play during Savasana.
I miss that dopey feeling that comes from a fully relaxed body and mind.
And I miss chanting om together at the end.
You forget how lovely all of this is until you’ve been away for a little while. What would you miss if you missed two weeks?
Thanks to my home studio for being there tomorrow (I’m so excited!), and thanks to you for the conversation.
Kristin Shepherd practices yoga, theatre, public speaking, writing, and chiropractic in North Bay, Ontario. Contact her at kristinshepherd.ca and at Dr. Kristin Shepherd on Facebook.