Yoga saved my life

I practise yoga, practise being the operative word.  I have been doing so for over four years now.  I am not willowy and slender, more flexible and strong.  My inner swan has yet to image.  The following pictures, which are a little old now, will give you the idea.

I can do better now, but it has taken a while.

Over the years I had put on so much weight that I was seriously unhealthy.  By the time I had my knee replacement surgery the lack of sustained movement, combined with my fear of injuring the joint, meant I could not even kneel down and stand up without assistance.  My daughter, Amy’s example, had helped clean up my diet a lot, but I still ate too much.  Turns out too much of a good thing can be bad for you.

By the time I moved into the Isaac I was ready to make more changes, but I had lost little weight and was very unfit.  But one of the first things that caught my eye was the yoga studio across the lane.  Never having tried yoga before, and certainly not wanting to embark on the spiritual side of the practice (which appears to me pretty shonky when I read about it), I thought I would try a beginners’ class.  But first I rang up, described my physical condition, and was advised to have a few private lessons first.  It was the best advice I could have been given.  I hate classes anyway, and I was assigned the wonderful Jac, who has become one of my best friends.

Needless to say I have never gotten round to going to the group sessions, although now have fun with a small group of friends at the Isaac who pay for a teacher to come and instruct us in the upstairs lounge twice a week.  Jac coxed and coached and bullied and cajoled and encouraged me until I was motivated enough to do it on my own.  Muscles I never knew I had are now routinely stretched and flexed, and my brain and body have been reintroduced to each other.  Believe me, that has some very positive benefits that go well beyond physical fitness.  Whole long neglected areas of ones well-being spring back to life, and of course that sets off other challenges.  But I won’t go there just now.

Suffice to say that it eventually got through to me that following an exercise regime that utilised my own body weight would be a lot easier if my body weight was less. In the past my mantra had always been, “diet or exercise, never both together”.  Naturally this was wrong, it never did work.  So I tried both together, and proved that with a lot of hard work even a post-menopausal woman with a wrecked metabolism can lose weight.  Quite a lot of weight in fact. Enough to be able to buy clothes from normal stores again,  although not enough to be regarded as slim.  Still, a better, healthier person did eventually emerge.  And when I stopped straightening and colouring my hair … well I told you about that in my first blog.  Not exactly Marilyn Monroe, but maybe not so bad for my age.

And if I had not taken up yoga, and met a teacher as sympatico as Jac, I really think I would be on my last legs now.  Or at the very least I would be as miserable as hell.  So, yes, yoga really did save my life.

By the way, I did warn you this blog was about me, right?  Oh, and another thing.  In the course of our yoga sessions Jac and I talk, a lot.  I am just putting this out there, for those of you who know me.  There is NOTHING Jac and I do not talk about!

Anyway, I am here in Aix doing my yoga routine every morning that Jac wrote for me as a parting gift.  I posted a couple of selfies on FaceBook this morning of me stretching feet up wall (an opening stretch courtesy of the also wonderful Bobbi who teaches our Isaac group), and my daughter commented that it just looked like me getting into awkward positions in my pyjamas.  But no, really, I am working out here because I dare not return to NZ looking like a tub of lard – been there, done that.

Enough for today, except for a little observation.  There are many markets in Aix, and a big one on Saturday.  The vendors are genuine retailers with mobile sites.  The prices are pretty good, but this is not the third world, and one does not haggle and expect to get something for nothing.  Personally, I do not think one should overdo that in the third world either, but that is another story.  Today in the market I watched two American couples trying to bargain with a stall-holder with so little grace or charm that I was ashamed we shared a common language.  After demanding a ridiculously low price for the goods on sale they used the classic, “well we are walking away now”.  All at full volume, with not a bonjour, s’il vous plaît, or merci to be heard.  I literally cringed with embarrassment as the stall-holder gave a Gallic shrug and turned his back on them.  Exactly what they deserved.

I am reminded that I am in a foreign country, and it behoves me to try and respect the culture and traditions of this place.  And I do try.  I always offer a greeting in French, at least begin my conversation  in French, and never neglect to depart with a merci and au revoir.  I am not sure if my French is improving, but people generally understand what I want.  It is just that I am a bit slow on the uptake when they reply.

And on a final note …  One thing I have been missing here is music.  I cannot get Spotify or Pandora, but have just discovered Jango and been happily typing along to a background of classic  American jazz.  Love Jango, and yes, those Yanks are good at some things.

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