The Preaching Sister

My sister moved to New Zealand last month. She is a massage therapist and what I call an Earthy person. I use the term affectionately and I give her a hard time about it but the truth is, she definitely is in tune with her passion and she steers me in the right direction. She, for years has preached yoga to me. So I begrudgingly tried it and dabbled in it.

I don’t remember the names of the poses, I don’t own a special mat, I don’t know why the guy in the video doesn’t get a haircut or why the Instructor at the lunchtime yoga class talks in such a low quiet voice…but what I do know is I need yoga.

Aging is a nasty thing. You deny your body is getting old and try and explode into flying kicks and sprint the track and punch out a set of 50 deep pushups like its no big deal. Brush it off, look at the young ones and give them the twinkle in your eye “that’s right punk… I still got it”.

Once I am home I search for the heating pad, ice pack and my blanket to cower in.

But the yoga deal, as I have come to realize is all about keeping me in the running. I see now, how it is a combination of long stretches combined with breathing, being in the moment to find those deep hidden muscles that get ignored. Working on maintaining their length, pliability and mobility to  prevent injury from overzealous moves and over ambitious training.

I no longer scoff, dabble or belittle the art of yoga. It is clear I need to incorporate it into my day, every day. Something else to add but I think without it, I may find myself on the sidelines more often, from injuries, that could have been prevented merely by taking the time for some preventative measures.

When she left last month, she left me a duffel bag, yes, with a selection of yoga DVDs , a yoga mat and a Zen clock??-not sure about that one yet – anyways, time to dig into the bag, thanks sis!