Tapas: Not just Spanish munchies

I love sanskrit and philosophy so much that it borders on the weird.  Particularly for me, who has always battled with foreign languages, the fact that I just eat up whatever sanskrit (an Indo-European language that no-one actually speaks any more) I can get my hands on is just odd. But that's not the point.


The point is a particular sanskrit word, tapas.  Tapas, as told to me by the brilliant Jenny Aurthur, is "the willingness to endure intensity for the sake of self-transformation."  


WOW.  Read that a few times, if you would.  The willingness to endure intensity for the sake of self-transformation. HOLY COW.  (Ba-dump-bump.)


When I first heard this term, I interpreted it as any former triathlete would.  I used it as a tool to kick my own ass.  When holding plank, I would mutter "tapas" under my breath, press my hands more firmly into the floor, grit my teeth and hold it. Tapas meant press my chest more firmly towards my thighs in dolphin, open my inner front thigh more fully during vira II, etc.

Me before a triathlon, doing a modified plank to warm up.

And then, like many  former (and current) triathletes do, I took it too far, and got injured.  AGAIN.  I have a history with ITB syndrome, a painful over-tightening of the illiotibial band that runs from the hip to the knee, and causes intense knee pain and often compensation of other muscles in the area.   So, all of a sudden, any pose which involved a straightening of the leg or a forward bend caused horrible pain. Which, in case you don't practice yoga, is about 60% of the asanas.  


At first, I pushed through.  Hard.  Ignoring the pain, I kept pressing, and pushing, and fighting against my own body, still attending class 5-6 days a week, jumping to chattarunga and ardha uttanasana EVERY time during every surya namaskar, and basically ignoring the nagging voice in my leg that said, "hey lady, give me a break, will ya?" 


Then, after many months of this, I had to stop.  My doctor, who is a genius who I deeply respect, told me to take two weeks off from yoga, which I interpreted to mean, "just a little." After two weeks with no improvement, he clarified that he meant, "No, really, NO yoga."


All of a sudden, the meaning of tapas became slightly more illuminated, and particularly the meaning of intensity.  If I thought my practice was intense, not practicing felt agonizing.  I felt like I was ready to crawl out of my body, I was anxious and frustrated.  And for two weeks, I sat through it.  I meditated, I reached out for support, and I sat through it.  And when I returned to Chrissy's class, while my leg was certainly far from perfect, I was able to be so much more present and aware on my mat than I'd ever been.


 For me, for today,  intensity is not pushing myself as hard as I can, come hell or high water.  If we do that, what comes to mind is another expression:  "If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always gotten."  Tapas means LISTENING to our bodies and our needs in that moment, and ignoring whatever external or internal pressures there are to push or be pushed.  So, for today, when I only come down half-way in a forward bend, or lie flat on my belly in lieu of child's pose, I just mutter "tapas" and smile.

Adventures in Ashtanga - Yoga for the everyday teenage boy?

I'm currently in the last part of my 200 hour teacher training at YogaWorks, led by the majestically wonderful Chrissy Carter and Jenny Aurthur.  I'm sure I'll write a whole entry (or four) devoted to how amazing they are, and how much they have both changed my practice.  Before I started my 200 hour training, I was "teaching yoga" privately to some of my personal training clients. Now, of course, I realize that while I thought I was teaching yoga, it was much closer to, "hey, we're both in the same English class - want me to help you with your homework?" than actually teaching.  With the 200 hour training, I feel vastly more confident and able to offer concrete tools to my students, who thankfully are growing in number rapidly.


Anyways, during yesterday's teacher training, we had an Ashtanga practice, led by Jenny. 

Jenny Aurthur, one of my teachers.  She is, to put it mildly, BADASS.

 Ashtanga yoga, created by Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, is a fascinating form of yoga that is meant to be practiced six days a week, in a set series of poses, usually at your own pace (So, not let by a teacher.)  It is vigorous and athletic, originally created for teenage boys to release excess energy.  (For more information on the practice, you can read more here.)  The YogaWorks method is a combination of Ashtanga and Iyengar yoga, so it was a great experience to have a "pure" Ashtanga practice.


This was one of the more difficult practices I have ever attempted.  Ok, let's be honest - it was by FAR the hardest practice I have ever attempted.  Five surya namaskara A's  (and no, mine does not look quite like that), five surya namaskara B's (nor that), followed by more vinyasas (complete with jump forwards and jump backs) than I could shake a stick at.  I could barely get through half the postures, and the other half didn't look quite so elegant, either.  I realized about 20 minutes into it, I had two choices for the practice - laugh or cry.  It would have been very easy to just give up or be miserable or self-criticising, but thanks both to Jenny and Chrissy's humor-filled attitude, and my own growth in the past few months, I treated Ashtanga like a playground of discovery.  The most fascinating part of the practice was, there were quite a few areas that I had previously been struggling with that just came naturally during Ashtanga simply because I didn't have time to think about them.


Anyways, it was really an adventure and an experience I am so grateful for.  In particular, I am so grateful that I chose the YogaWorks method, which makes the most sense for my particular body and spirit - it's thoughtful, alignment based, adventurous, playful and athletic.  The Ashtanga sequence was also a great opportunity to practice vairagya (literally colorlessness, more regularly translated as "non-attachment") and just let the practice be what it was without judgement. Of course, that didn't quite happen, but it was a nice thing to try, anyway.


Have a great day, and keep practicing!


Kat


P.S. To see what it's like to take a class with Jenny (a YogaWorks, non-Ashtangi class, that is!) check this out - it's FABULOUS!