The Story of a Runner Turned Yogi...

When I come to my yoga mat every morning I try to leave my expectations behind. This is a practice, a blending of breath with the flow of movement, not something to conquer or master or dominate but something to experience and embrace. It wasn't always that way and I'm not always successful at doing so. Yoga started off for me as a way to earn P.E. credits in college and later turned into a means to "force" myself to stretch when I became a runner. I sought out the more aggressive videos like power flow and later, P90X so that my yoga days would feel more like a workout than a time suck...I mean, can you really count 60 minutes of stretching to spa music as working out (especially when 5 of those minutes were laying on the ground in corpse pose doing nothing)?

My previous mentality...

 In my mid 30's I felt that I was no longer running for health benefits but more as a way to run away from life. I was disconnected from my body and mind, pushing myself into injuries and brushing it off as 'true dedication'..."See how committed I am?? I'm running with a torn hip flexor and fracture in my foot!!". After finally being forced to take 6 months off (via a cast) I found other forms of exercise to fill the void...boxing, cross fit, kettle bells, HIIT, P90X, Insanity, BodyRock, etc. before turning back to running. Yoga took a back seat again (actually, it got left behind at the rest stop). But the disconnect still persisted and I was faced with results that weren't fulfilling me mentally or physically.

I earned my orange headband completing Tough Mudder Norcal.

Crossing the finish line with my BFF Coleen at the Rock n' Roll San Diego Marathon.

 Although I do love the mental and physical aspects of the events I participated in like a full marathon and Tough Mudder, I also knew that these types of physically demanding challenges weren't something I aspired to maintain for the rest of my life (and yes, I am aware of the 100 year old man who completed the Toronto Marathon as well as the 80 year old man who has run 19 NYC Marathons). I'm no wimp, don't get me wrong...but I don't want to continue to dedicate the amount of time and effort into training for marathon after marathon for the next 40+ (God willing) years. My last marathon did a number on me...breaking down muscles and mentally challenging me during long and lonely 18+ mile training runs. While it was an overall positive experience which I am proud of, it's just not sustainable for me.

SIddha Yoga Ashram in Oakland...a turning point.

Over the past couple of years I've learned that yoga has so much more to offer than a limber body and a means to work out the kinks. A visit to an ashram in Oakland opened my eyes to the true meaning of yoga as well as the 7 other limbs to enlightenment...something I was in desperate need of at that point in my life. So, about a year ago (a little while after we officially hit the road as fulltime travelers) I stopped running and committed myself to practicing yoga almost exclusively. And this time my yoga practice would incorporate more than just asanas (although I am going to post pictures of some of these poses, because asana is one of the limbs).

Practicing pigeon pose on Glaveston Island, Texas

In that time I have felt a definite and positive shift in my health and mental well being. I've also not only maintained the muscle mass I had previously acquired but my aches and pains have diminished (specifically in my back, sciatic, hips and knees...some of which have troubled me since I was a teenager). My core has strengthened as well as my upper body and my balance has improved. But the biggest change has been more profound. I feel very connected to my body...its changes, its  needs, its sensitive areas and places of resistance.

Taking an amazing class in Contoocook New Hampshire...possibly my favorite class to date.

I also feel an interconnectedness with every thing around me...the wind, the trees, the water, the seasons...even people I encounter. Rather than jumping to harsh judgements I embrace that pause between seeing and completing a thought and instead, imagine the struggles they are going through...and even if they aren't struggling I can imagine the journey it has taken me to get to where I am physically and mentally and remember that no one can map out another person's journey nor can they force another to even embark on that journey.

Headstand in the Pocono Mountains

Yoga has provided me the peace and serenity that previously came only from a pill or the sheer exhaustion of over-training. I am not begrudging anyone who runs or boxes or finds enjoyment from intense physical activity as I still do enjoy riding my bike, hiking and kayaking when I can...I even ran a 5k distance last month and felt exhilarated. I also still have some big dreams and goals, perhaps to climb a mountain or learn to surf. But for me, yoga has provided the missing element of joining body, mind and spirit (with the side benefit of maintaining or even improving my fitness).

Morning self practice in Pennsylvania

Some days I leave my mat in tears from emotions which have been stirred from syncing my breath and movement with an open minded willingness to to just be...to just feel...to listen to my needs. Some days I leave my mat with so much energy that I ride my bike or go for a hike or clean the entire RV or even add an additional round of practice complete with arm balances and handstands. And some days I leave my mat content, even happy...a feeling that continues throughout the day and spills over onto the people around me.But I never leave my mat with regret for having taken the time to breath and connect with something deeper than myself, for having taken time for myself I have found the link to every thing around me.



 

Lessons From My Mother Through the Eyes a Self-Righteous Daughter

My older sister, me and my mom circa 1972 in Tokyo, Japan.

I've always loved my mom...but I haven't always respected her. Those are hard words to type and actually bring tears to my eyes. I mean, I don't have to confess this to anyone. I am ashamed of myself. But I've learned so much about her, and myself, since my dad died that I want to scream from the roof tops how amazing she is...and it just wouldn't makes as much sense without telling you that it wasn't always this way.

I've always gotten along with my mom...she's fun, super nice, always in a good mood and seems to never tire until after her family's needs have been tended to. She talks to everyone and always offers a heartfelt compliment...cashiers, bus boys, toll takers, TSA agents...everyone. She's also a great listener and is the type of person who, instead of trying to turn the conversation around to talk about herself, will ask more questions of the speaker allowing them to remain in the spotlight. She's affectionate and thinks nothing of hugging me and kissing me whenever the urge hits her, even in public (and no matter if I am 6, 16 or 42).  If she feels like showing her love she just does it. And her laugh is infectious...you see it in her eyes and you feel it in the air...there's nothing fake about it.

Our family lived in a kind of vacuum. My dad was in the Air Force and consequently we moved frequently, about every 3 years. Growing up without an extended family around and changing friends regularly meant we pretty much relied on each other as company. The older I got and the more we moved, the less likely I was to try to maintain old friendships and make new ones. I am an introvert and the effort was too much.

Our little family...I have no idea why I'm the only one not smiling...

Without the influence of other relationships and without the ability to observe other family dynamics the foundation for what I would perceive as normal was laid for me by my parents. Don't get me wrong, this isn't the old blame game...just an observation. My parents did everything they could for my sister and me...including getting us horses. We always had food, new clothes every school year, pets to play with and we always sat down to dinner together. We played games like Yatzee or watched sitcoms in the evening. We took family vacations...normally to visit family in Pennsylvania meaning a major road trip at least once a year, but we also went camping, visited Disney World and saw pretty much all of the tourist attractions in whatever area we happened to be living in at the time.

So, how is it I lost respect for my mom? Well, my dad was an alcoholic...a functional alcoholic, but an alcoholic none-the-less. I don't know when that happened because in my lifetime, he was always an alcoholic. He grew up on a farm and it was hard work, he dropped out of school in the 8th grade, he was the one who found his father dead of a massive heart attack, he went to Vietnam and saw things no human being should see, early in his career he struggled to provide for his family and he also went undiagnosed as bi-polar for almost his entire life. These aren't excuses but realities. He was the only man I knew and the only man for a very long time who would have any influence on my life and experiences. And he took his suffering out on my mom by belittling her in front of his children.

My mom visiting us in Santa Cruz.

I doubt he understood the harm he was causing from his behavior (god, I hope not) but his disappointment with my mom for various, sometimes petty things seemed never ending. In time I learned that his disappointment was really about himself , something my mom and I talked about during our last visit.

My mom rarely stood her ground, at least not that we could see. The more it happened (which equated to the 'worse' of a drunk he became and the longer he went without treatment for his mental health disorder) the weaker my mom appeared in my eyes. Us kids would test the grounds ourselves, offering a few disrespectful comments here and there, speaking down to her and ultimately feeling superior or maybe smarter than her and we felt no repercussions from our behavior. I don't believe we were ever cruel nor was this an intentional act but more like a learned behavior. Also, it is not abnormal for there to be a sort of  'power struggle' between teen girls and their mother as part of the growing process.

But what gets me is that somewhere down inside I knew my dad had a problem. Yet, I chose his relationship style over my mom's. I saw my mom more and more as a push-over and people pleaser rather than a parental figure and a loving, sensitive person (who also needed to be loved back). I guess I thought that in  order for me to be a success I needed to be more like my dad. After all, he was a middle school drop out who had managed to earn his master's degree while working his full-time job in the military (and still earning promotions) and raising a family. He was smart, driven, sarcastic, condescending, judgmental (yet afraid of confrontation) and moody. He was my hero...and he was kind of an asshole to my mom.

My parent's wedding day...August 26, 1967.

 I know he loved her, provided for her and even she will tell you that if she wanted for something he would be sure she got it. But apparently, his need...the need to feel feel superior and less like a failure due to his own insecurities...required him to belittle her. And she took it. And I wondered why she didn't leave him even though there was no where for her to go. She had sacrificed her own dreams and career to follow him around the world as an Air Force wife. They were married in 1967...things were different then and women just didn't up an leave, especially since my dad's alcoholism was our family's secret due to his military career. The longer she stayed with him, as he spiraled further into the abyss that is alcoholism, the more I wanted her to leave.

But she did stay...for 42 years. And one day they were in a car accident and my dad died. And my mom became this amazingly strong person right before my eyes. Perhaps that strong person was always there but the shadow my dad made snuffed out the light she needed to blossom or for us to even notice.

Doesn't my mom just glow?

I spent 6 weeks with her this past spring and I finally talked to her about all of these thoughts I've had. I confessed to her the misguided judgements I had passed even though my own life was far from perfect and some of my own past relationships were perhaps worse in comparison. It's so easy to tell someone else how to improve their life rather than work on your own.

She spoke to me of the lack of emotion from him early on in their relationship which she led her to shower us with the love that not only she had but also what he felt for us, but could not show. She didn't let his fear of people and crowds (he was painfully introverted) diminish her love for them and she always had friends. She didn't let his moodiness be cast on her like a wet blanket but instead let her joy show not only in her smile but in her entire being. She didn't let his irrational and spontaneous ideas (he once bought a show car with money he had pulled out of an investment with steep penalties for early withdrawal...without telling her) take away from the needs of her children, always finding ways to make ends meet even though it was she who often got blamed for over-spending.

You see, I found that my mom, in a way, has learned something a lot of us struggle with daily. We have the ability (and the right) to choose how happy we want to be...even if we are surrounded by unhappiness. Although she chose to 'stick it out' with my dad, she did so under her own power and with her own principles in mind. Surely she wasn't always happy...and perhaps she wondered about the 'what-if's'...don't we all? But she took a bad situation and not only lived through it but thrived...as a strong woman who is still so full of joy and goodness.

My mom made the bouquet for my wedding in Tahoe.

I don't look at my mom as a weak person anymore. She is strong beyond belief. While I was full of self-righteousness and thought she should be better or different than what she was, she was accepting of all of us just as we were. Trust me, there is a lesson in that. She deserves my respect and then some.

These days, while I still long for the approval from a dead father who was never one to show emotion anyway, I find myself ever thankful that my mother has shown me that it doesn't really matter and to just be happy with what it is I am doing. My hope now is to one day be as strong and loving as my mom.