Breathe

"Breathe in, and breathe out."
Mumford & Sons, "Lover of the Light"

I practice yoga.  Yes, really.  I almost always get curiously raised eyebrows when I tell someone I do yoga because many think that it belongs to the fit and healthy, to those who can stand on their heads and who fill out those ubiquitous black Lululemon pants so well.  Although it is no doubt trendy, and has been for some time now, yoga is as old as dirt, with a fundamental belief that it is about connecting our spirit, our breath, and our bodies.  Furthermore, because for me yoga is about 90% breath and 10% form, I believe it is for everyone, for all bodies. 

This belief has taken time to develop, and it hasn't been without barriers.  I had been curious about yoga for a long time, and so about 10+ years ago, I dropped in at a "learn-to yoga" class offered by Leisure Services through our city.  Because I had a sports background, and considerable experience in conscious breath-watching, I thought I could probably adapt poses.  I wheeled myself into the classroom, past all the other participants who were seated on their mats, and found myself a little corner at the back.  No one seemed to mind at all that I was there, in fact, I exchanged many smiles around the room.  However, it was about 5 minutes prior to class when the instructor saw me and asked me to step out of the room to talk.  First, she asked me if I knew what class this was, and I assured her that I did.  She then said, "I don't think this is the right class for you." 

With my brain buzzing with the shock of her disrespect, she went on to explain how the class would run, and I gathered my wits about me, and explained how I thought I could adapt. Then to drive home her belief that this class was not right for me, she said, "I don't think it would be fair to the other participants because you would be a distraction." 

I should have told her to step off.  But I didn't.  Instead I said I would stay at the back and not bother anyone, and that as a tax-paying citizen of Saskatoon, that I had every right to attend this class.  She shrugged me off, and I went back into the room, albeit, flustered.  The woman nearest me, leaned over and whispered, "We are glad you are saying.  You should know that her mic was on and that all of us heard every word.  Welcome to yoga."

Despite this first negative encounter, I stayed intrigued by yoga.  It was almost 2 years ago that another class offering caught my attention, posted as a summer class at my son's karate school.  And my then 14-year-old son, who did not think it was weird or uncool whatsoever to take a yoga class with his paraplegic mother, thought taking it together would be fun (have I mentioned I really love my son?).  This time, my teacher was Joanne.  She didn't know about teaching yoga to a wheelchair user either, but her mind was open and we worked together.  We figured things out together.  And ta-da, I had an adapted program.  The poses are definitely beneficial for not just my worn-out shoulders, elbows, and wrists, but for the parts of me like my hips, legs, and lower back, that even though I can't feel because of my paralysis, are still a part of me, and deserve to be touched and stretched, and therefore honoured. 

I practiced on and off, on my own, and with Joanne and other people in chairs (I even taught others for a short time) until surgeries and snow got in the way.   Then yesterday I was invited to take part in a free adaptive yoga class at the North Saskatchewan Independent Living Centre here in downtown Saskatoon and it was being taught by Joanne.  I found I had missed doing yoga with other people.  Listening to the ocean-like sounds of breath come from me and from others around me is a beautiful thing.  There is still one more class, so if you have a disability and are interested, give them a shout, 665-5508.  I can not guarantee it, but maybe there is room for a couple more.

wishing you the beauty that comes from watching your breath go in and out,
hk