For the first few weeks of my yoga journey, I would sometimes feel like my demise was near. As noted in a prior post, I hadn’t yet embraced the words that the yoga gurus (my definition of the fine individuals that devoted their time to helping me learn). So, I was still in competition mode. Not with the others, but with myself. I had to have the perfect poses, and move at the same pace as the guru.

What is really ironic about this is that, for years, I have shaken my head at friends and relatives that decide they’re going to start running (or lifting weights), only to run longer than they should, or lift more than they should. When that happens, the inevitable occurs: the next day they ache a little bit. Days three and beyond, they are generally in excruciating pain. Why didn’t I apply the same knowledge to my yoga practice? Stupidity is the only thing I can come up with. And, no, this isn’t being overly hard on myself. I should have known better.

As I’ve mentioned, there are many aspects to yoga–both physical and spiritual. I would bet that most that have never practiced yoga could not comprehend just how difficult yoga can be. Let’s take a typical Chaturanga Dandasana (low plank) as an example. The pose, on it’s own is challenging (when done correctly–i.e., in a way that isn’t going to eventually rupture a lower-back disc). But then comes integrating that pose into a typical flow–such as the following: a Adho Mukha Shvanasana (downward dog), to a straight-armed plank, and then slowly lowering the body into the Chaturanga Dadasana…and holding it there for a bit of time–say five to ten seconds. Finally, lowering to the floor, flipping the toes back, and either coming up to a Bhujangasana (cobra pose), or Urdhva Mukha Svanasana (updog pose), holding, and then–finally–moving back to a Adho mukha svanasana (downward dog). But, you’re not done. A very short time later (a few breaths), it’s time to move to a Tadasana (mountain pose), then a Uttanasana (forward fold), etc. The point is, this is a significant workout.

For, roughly, my first six weeks, I just didn’t get it. There were many, many days that I would literally go home thinking I was going to either break my body into small pieces, or just die. And, of the two, the latter seemed the more humane way to end the agony. And this was still while doing the basic and stretch sessions.

I don’t know when, exactly, it clicked for me. But, at some point, I gave up caring about where I was with respect to the instructor or others. I guess I inherently knew that I needed to snap out of it. If I didn’t I was going to either damage my body in some way, or I was going to stop going to yoga. Neither outcome was desirable.

I mentioned above that yoga is physical and spiritual. Moving from my “competition” mode to the “be kind to yourself” was a spiritual movement for me. I put my practice into one of awareness. I became aware of what my body was telling me, and I accepted that I didn’t have all of the answers, and that wherever I was in my practice was exactly where I was supposed to be.

From that time forward, I have focused on taking care of myself. Although I am committed to continually learning, I also accept that my body might not be ready for a particular pose–and in some instances might never be ready for a pose. This isn’t to say that I don’t push myself–I absolutely do. But when I push myself, my first focus is on doing a pose correctly (which does not mean mimicking what it should look like). If I get the form right, I can improve over time.

There is no hurry. And, for me, that is a lesson that took way too long to learn. But then again, I learned it when it was time for me to learn.