Category Archives: Yoga

How To Not Let Yoga Wreck Your Body

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The New York Times recently published an article entitled How Yoga Can Wreck Your Body, spurring outrage throughout the yoga community, insofar as yogis can actually be outraged.  For me, I read the article and had a number of reactions and feelings, so much so that I needed some time to organize my thoughts. The general message of the article highlights the growing number of yoga-related injuries and concludes that the vast majority of people should steer clear of yoga altogether.

I consider myself to be a yogi, no matter how pretentious that sounds.  I have practiced Mysore-style Ashtanga yoga for almost five years.  I have never sustained an injury.  My initial reaction to the article was that anything – anything – can wreck your body if you let your ego get in the way.  I’m in good shape, but I’m not a runner; if I suddenly started running 10K a day, assuming that I purchased running shoes, which I do not currently own, you can bet I would injure myself, pending my not collapsing and dying from that much cardio.  I mean, I am someone who ended up in the ER from playing recreational slo-pitch.  Any kind of physical activity can be injurious if you are not aware of your own body and your own limitations, or in my case, if you take a line drive to the throat. 

I have known people to injure themselves performing yoga postures, it’s true.  I know people with tight hips forcing themselves into lotus, blowing out their knees.  I have known people to do one of those dreadful hot yoga classes, overstretch and tear a hamstring.  Shoulders, necks, backs: I’ve known people to injure themselves doing certain postures.

If you try this in a “hot yoga” class you may tear your hamstring.  But that doesn’t mean you can’t practice yoga.

The Primary Series of Ashtanga is known as the “healing series”, something I truly believe because it healed me.  So why is yoga wrecking bodies, as the article suggests?

If you have back problems, don’t do backbends.  You can still practice yoga.

First, I think we need to address the matter of semantics.  Differences in connotations and personal interpretations can really fire up an argument.  I can tell you I used to get irrationally annoyed when people would refer to their toddlers’ daycare centre as “school”.  Honestly, did it matter what anyone called it?  Did it make a difference?  No.  But yet I would be bothered always by the switch in title.

And this is why simply using the word “yoga” in such a sweeping way bothers me.  What I think of as yoga and what the article is talking about are two very different things.

When I first started at my studio, a teacher said to me “There is a difference between going to yoga classes and having a yoga practice.”  And there, exactly, is the point.  Going to a yoga class and treating it as a kick ass workout – that is where the injuries happen.  Competition, ego, and envy are injury instigators.  Pressure from inferior teachers who don’t know individual bodies and limitations leads to injuries.  Attempting difficult or complicated postures in a crowded, sweaty room without first obtaining the proper knowledge, strength, and flexibility is an injury waiting to happen.  Turning your attention outward instead of inward, not paying attention to your body and what it is telling you, letting what happened yesterday affect your feelings about today can lead to pain and injury.

You can’t learn this in a led class.  You need a teacher to help you, one-on-one. 
But that doesn’t mean you can’t practice yoga.

In Mysore-style Ashtanga, students practice the sequence of postures at their own pace with a teacher to assist and adjust them properly.  The benefit of this style is that you do not go past your own limitations; you do not move to the next posture until you can properly and safely perform the previous postures.  The teacher deems you to be ready when you are ready.  The teacher works with you one-on-one and learns your body and your strengths and weaknesses.  As an example, here is a video showing this style of yoga (fun fact: I am wearing a pale pink top and light grey tights – can you spot me?)

But posture – or asana – is only one of eight limbs of Ashtanga.  Only one.  Of utmost importance is the limb of ahimsa, which means non-harming.  This includes non-harming to ones’ self.  My beloved teacher is known to say “Do this posture at the expense of absolutely nothing.”  Taking this advice eliminates the possiblity of yoga wrecking your body.  He also says “You want to do this your whole life.”  I do.  So I draw my attention inward.

The other limbs include breath control, inner peace and inner observation, and living ethically.  It doesn’t really matter if you can hold your leg behind your head then float back to chaturanga if you roll up your mat and resume your life as an asshole.  That’s not yoga.  Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, the Guruji of Ashtanga yoga, said that yoga is for ALL people, except for lazy people.  I really believe that.  I have a friend who is featured in this video; he is amazing, he has a beautiful practice, I am inspired to be in his presence.  But also inspiring are all the people I see every day, every morning at yoga practice, all those people in the previous video.  Our practices all look different; our bodies are all different, but we are all there, with intention.  From the very beginner who struggles through sun salutations to the very advanced practitioner who takes my breath away with their physical stamina; those people who are true to themselves and their practice, those who live an ethical, compassionate life, those who cultivate patience and kindness, those people are true yogis and are inspirational, always.

Practicing asana is important – it gives concentration, it gives physical strength and stamina, but of greater importance is to live the yoga, to take it off the mat and live a life of compassion and inner reflection and non-harming – to others and to yourself.  That is yoga, true yoga, and it cannot wreck your body.

Just settle the fuck down already, it’s just Pyjama Day.

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It’s Pyjama Day at the boys’ school today and – this may not seem significant to you, but it IS – Mark is wearing pyjamas!  Not once has Mark ever worn pyjamas on Pyjama Day.  He has always preferred to wear just regular clothes, despite the pyjama clad children everywhere.  His refusal to conform to Pyjama Day bothered me a bit when he was in preschool, then less and less with each year.  I figured, in my chillaxing way, that he as he grew he would become more interested in festively wearing nightwear to class, or if he didn’t, that was okay too.  I was pretty sure that somewhere out there were perfectly functional adults who also opted to wear jeans on Pyjama Day, so I was not too worried.  When he told me he was going to participate, I tried not to make a big deal about it.  This morning he was a bit concerned, telling me that he was worried about what the public would think – his “public”, upon further investigation, was discovered to be our neighbours.  He reassured himself that our neighbours probably would not laugh at his pyjama clad legs, and in any case, he was wearing snowpants.  In the car he fretted that no other children would be wearing pyjamas – what if it was just he and Jake? – but then we saw my friends’ children, all of them in Division Two, and all of them wearing pyjamas, and he was vastly reassured.

I have known parents to get upset if their children choose not to participate in an ostensibly fun activity at school – it’s FUN, we say, why don’t you TRY it?, just TRY IT. – but sometimes kids have reasons of their own, and what’s wrong with that?  Wearing your pyjamas to school is an odd concept, after all, and in any case, certain quirks can be outgrown.

All of which is to say, I really like my friend Nan’s plan for a parenting magazine section entitled “Just Settle The Fuck Down Already“, indicating that we cannot control every single facet of our children’s lives.  Once we all realize this, we will be much more at peace.  Not everything that happens to our children or every part of their personalities is a direct result of our actions.  We can all point to parents who, to all appearances and with all the available information, did everything right and yet their child’s life turned terribly, horribly wrong.  See also: Nancy Spungen.  We also can point to parents who adopted the “Feral Child” method of childrearing and yet produced functional adults who contribute to society.  See also: Jeannette Walls.  I’m not saying parenting doesn’t matter: of course it does.  This is not license to guzzle whiskey and smoke while pregnant or allow your toddler to watch TV for twelve hours a day or to feed your children nothing whatsoever other than Coke, Chicken McNuggets, and Pop Rocks.  I mean, that’s really going to fuck shit up.  Obviously we need to do the best job we can and use our brains and our instincts and reliable, researched information, and YET, we still cannot control and shape our children exactly to our specfications.  Nor should we want to.  They are little people, in their own right. 

I have a post on my mind right now that I want to write – not that Pyjama Day is not important stuff – but I’m just not ready.  I realize this is kind of like one of those vague Facebook statuses that people probably mean to be enigmatic but instead turn out kind of flaky.  You know what I mean.  Today was the worst (or, alternately, best) day ever!!!!! with no explanation to what happened, spurring questions and concern from all fronts.  Or an inspirational quote to show that there is drama going on in your life right now, but you are making peace with it.  Or – and this is my favourite – I’m going through my Facebook and deleting everyone who is not a true friend.  If you are NOT a true friend, GOODBYE.  Those always make me feel uncomfortable.  If you are going to unfriend me, I guess I would rather not it be part of your Facebook status, you know?  Not that I should talk.  I mean, my Facebook status today had to do with the fact that I’m wearing compression stockings and jeggings at the same time.  I’m melding the part of myself that wants to be stylish and hip with the part of myself that is next door to drinking hot water and lemon on a summer day.  WORLDS COLLIDING, OMG.  

I also really, really want to talk about the New York Times article about yoga and all the fallout from the yoga world and all that and throw Jim Fix and running into the mixture, but I have run out of time talking about PYJAMA DAY and so I will have to save that topic for next time.  In the meantime, I came across this “Shit Nobody Says” video over at Hilarity in Shoes’ blog, and I love it even more than the “Shit Vegans Say” one (is there HONEY in your bread?).  Maybe I should make my own video.  But I’m not sure what it would say.  My hands are cold.  Barkley is the cutest dog EVER, you should totally get a Labradoodle.  Please don’t fart at the dinner table.  The secret ingredient is love.  Mmm, cheese.  Please don’t talk about your penis at the dinner table.  I used to have a nice rack, now I’m totally deflated.  Chickpeas are awesome!  NO FARTING AT THE DINNER TABLE.  Inhale, exhale.  You have to use your breath.  Do not talk about poop at the dinner table.  Barkley want to go for a walk?  Walk?  Walk?  I think I’m going to have a glass of wine.  STOP TALKING AND FINISH YOUR DINNER.  NO.  NO MORE FARTING.  I made this kick ass stirfry.  Do you want to go to Costco with me?  I have a phobia about it.  Okay, just clear your plate and get started on your home reading.  Yes, it’s okay if you have to poop first.  Wash your hands.  Asana is only one PART of yoga.

There’s the foreshadowing – for the next post!  No, not the farting and pooping part.

Kids’ Yoga – Summer of Awesome

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The cashier at the grocery store asked me how my weekend was.  “Great!” I said cheerfully.  “Oh yeah?  What did you do?” he asked.  I stood silently for a minute.  I couldn’t recall one single thing that I had done.  I started feeling idiotic, standing there quietly, so I replied “Um, not much, I guess.  Some yardwork?”  He smiled and nodded, clearly thinking I was perhaps the most boring person on earth.  

I don’t find my life boring to live, but I often think it might sound fairly boring to the average person.  I mean, yardwork?  And yardwork wasn’t even TRUE, other than watering my plants, but I couldn’t think of anything to say and the best I could come up with was yardwork.  Here are some of the things that I DID do on Saturday: walked the dog, baked a banana bread, made salsa and discovered, not for the first time, that breathing while putting onions and jalapenos in the food processor is not a good idea, as my burning eyes told me for the next few hours.  My Saturday night was spent drinking wine, by myself, while watching the NYPD Blue episode where Kelly collars a rogue cop in order to save Martinez from wearing a wire and becoming part of the rat squad, and while I enjoyed all those activities I do not necessarily think that they are all that compelling, once I have written them down.

This weekend marked the last of the kids’ yoga class.  During the month of June, the boys have taken a Sunday afternoon yoga class for kids at the studio I go to.  Have you ever forced your children to do something extracurricular that they did not want to do?  Until this month, I had not.  I believe that my children need a lot of unscheduled time to just play, and so other than soccer they have been registered in no extracurricular activities.  When my studio started offering classes for children, I mentioned it to my kids every once in a while, and they were always unequivocally not interested.  Then one day Mark mentioned that he would like to try it.  Bam!  I immediately registered both of them for the four week session in June, much to Jake’s chagrin.  He didn’t want to take a yoga class, he was scared to take a yoga class, it would be boring to take a yoga class.  I coaxed and cajoled and promised that if he just tried it, if he just tried three classes and he still didn’t like it, he didn’t have to go to the last class and he would never have to do it again.

Jake has a tendency to be anxious in new situations.  He is outgoing, he makes friends easily and plays happily, but when it comes to trying something new, he hesitates.  But I thought this would be a good fit; I thought the breathing techniques would help him if he was nervous and I thought the postures would be good for his, how shall I put this, lack of coordination.  I emailed the teacher, a lovely and sweet young friend of mine, beautiful on the inside and out, and on the first day her face lit up when she saw my boys.  She asked Jake to set up his mat next to hers.  I waited the 45 minutes for the class to end and when he came out of the studio, he was glowing and happy.  “I think I want to come back next week, please” he said.

When the session ended on Sunday, Jake spiralled into sadness.  He was sad to leave the studio, he was sad to leave his teacher.  He sobbed on the drive home, until he picked up the little flower that the teacher had made for each of the kids.  “When I’m sad or mad or nervous I’m supposed to smell this flower,” he said, and started taking calming deep breaths, smelling the flower, not crying anymore.  

Jake in Turtle pose.
Mark in Tree.

Downward dogs.

Fun benefit of kids’ yoga – seeing them do yoga in their pajamas!  Mark in Bow.

Jake in Butterfly.

Polymer Anarchy – a guest post

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One of my very favourite blog friends is Marilyn, at A Lot of Loves.  She’s awesome and funny and has a really great site.  When she asked me to guest post, I was thrilled and started a post on non-Newtonian liquids.  That’s fun to say.  Non-Newtonian liquids. 

This morning I woke up feeling all stabby from a very frustrating school council meeting last night (have you ever dealt with a school board?  Then you would probably understand.  Those people are from a completely different planet.) and the arrival of fifteen centimetres of snow on the ground today.  I took one look outside this morning at 5:00 and decided that, in lieu of going to the yoga studio, I was going to go back to bed.  Sivasana! 

After some extra sleep, giving myself some exercise by shovelling the wet, heavy snow, and making a snowman with the kids before school – a snowman who was immediately pummeled to death by those same children – I feel much better.  I’m going to make the winning combination of kale chips and chocolate chip cookies today, which makes everything better.  And to top it off, my guest post is up at Marilyn’s, and I would really appreciate it if you could check it out!  I’m going to blind you with science!  See you there.  xo

Soccer Moms: not just about tracksuits anymore.

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So, after a flurry of activity this weekend, I am much more in control and not so sad, despite the fact that it is still snowing.  Still snowing.  It’s been a week now of snow, blowing snow, and the sky matching the snowy, snowy ground.  Someone who lives in a much, much nicer climate than I do phoned this morning and complained about the lack of green grass where she lives.  I was overcome with hysterical jealousy given that a) it will be a minimum of six weeks before green grass appears here, and b) it will be a while before brown grass appears given the plethora of snow.
But I digress.  I wasn’t even going to complain about the horrible, horrible weather, but instead inform you perkily that I have finished several things on my gigantic to-do list (although not the Costco trip.  That’s tomorrow but my mother is very kindly taking the kids for a few hours meaning I can have my usual Costco-based nervous breakdown without hearing “Mom?  Mom?  MOOOOMMMM?  Can we get a snack?  Can we?  MOOOOOOMMMM.”)  The biggest accomplishment for me this weekend was finishing the soccer schedules.  It is my third year of doing the soccer schedules for our community and the two surrounding, and happily, at no time did I resort to heavy drinking, crying, or trying to stab myself in the heart with my mechanical pencil.  Since I am now a jaded veteran of the world of soccer scheduling, I fully expected some sort of complaint or change as soon as I sent it out to the officials, and so I was not at all thrown off by the almost immediate reply that the number of U10 teams was going to change. 
What I have found about being a stay-at-home mom with kids in school is that the number of volunteer commitments that I sign up for tends to snowball at particular times of the year and then I feel like I have a full time, albeit unpaid, job.  It’s not like I don’t like being involved with the school or soccer community, although being a soccer mom makes me think that I need to go buy a neon windbreaker tracksuit.  I mean, sure, there’s the glory of being known as the “Book Fair Lady”, and the warm feeling of being appreciated when I get accosted at the volunteer appreciation dinner by someone drunkenly thanking me for taking on the soccer scheduling, but sometimes it just feels like a lot of work.  Although maybe it was me being drunk at the volunteer appreciation dinner.  After all, I won a gigantic set of French White Corningware and decided to walk home alone carrying the very heavy box, much to my husband’s dismay when I arrived, stumbling on the doorstep.  “LOOK WHAT I WON!”
But the big news of the weekend was that I attended a few sessions of a yoga workshop with this man, and it was fabulous.  Strenuous, but fabulous.  I have discovered some muscles that I did not know I had, and now I’m moving around like I’m an arthritic ninety year old.  Getting up off the couch is taking some serious effort.  The timing may not have been great given that it’s only three sleeps until my big day, after which I may be walking like an arthritic ninety-five year old.  But well worth it anyway.
How was your weekend?

Nicole’s 300th Episode!

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It’s my 300th blog post!  If this were a sitcom, I would totally make this a clip show.  As it is, I looked back through some of my archives and discovered the following things: a) I write a lot about being insane and germ-phobic, b) I talk about the weather as much as someone who is in their eighties, and c) my children have not changed much in the past three years. That’s weird.  I came across this post, which made me realize that my children’s speaking styles have really not altered since August 2008, which means that this is not a phase.

I wanted to make my 300th post profound and erudite, perhaps talking about the superiority or otherwise of Tiger Mothers (which I am not, sadly, being Scottish-Norwegian, a mixed heritage that combines the world’s worst cuisines. What could possibly be worse than haggis and lutefisk? Absolutely nothing.)  My friend Nan beat me to it with her post on Trekkie Mother Superiority, and although I have never watched an episode of Star Trek in my life, I still found this entertaining enough not to compete with.  I mean, what am I going to counter with?  Why Scottish-Norwegian vegetarian crazy germ phobic overly emotional flakey math geek yogi mothers are superior?  Because we carry around a lot of hand sanitizer, tissues, and fruit leather?  Because our kids say to each other “Uh oh, it’s a moon day! Be extra nice to Mom.”?  Because we tear up when our kids count by twos or say things like “Problem solving and arithmetic are the best parts of school!”?


Sigh.


As a side note, I recently said to a male friend of mine “I think you’re average.  No, I’m just being mean,” and then I started laughing at my own hysterical joke while he stared at me like I just had grown another head, one with much nicer hair.  After an awkward moment of silence, he said, absurdly, “Oh. I guess I was thinking of medians.” I felt like I had made a dirty joke at my grandma’s Bible study group. Actually, my grandma would totally laugh at dirty jokes. She’s pretty fun.

But speaking of flakiness, rather than awkward math jokes, my whole world is coming crashing down as we speak.  Of course I’m talking about the possible alteration of zodiac signs.  This is distressing news to say the least, as not only will I be an Aries – which I decidedly am NOT – I’m not even sure if my husband and I will be astrologically compatible anymore!  DOOM.  Fortunately a friend (whose birthday is today!  Happy birthday my friend!  Sorry you are cleaning up toddler barf instead of celebrating.) sent me a link regarding this very important issue and I have discovered that I can, happily, disregard any alterations due to star alignments, orbits of the earth, blah blah blah.  Whatever, I’m still a Taurus.  My marriage is still intact.  Thank you, birthday friend, for talking me down from my ledge.

So, it appears that my 300th post is not profound and erudite, but what can I say?  It’s Friday, I’m going to have a glass of wine and some chocolates, and toast myself!  Cheers!

All the cool kids are doing it!

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And so will I – a Year in Review.  Yes, I know it is the sixth of January and most year in reviews have already been posted, but I was far too busy writing about people who eat toilet paper and watching When Harry Met Sally.

So what happened in 2010 over at the Boy House?

January

I made a resolution to learn how to bake bread, and did so immediately, learning two important things: a) baking bread is not as hard as I thought it would be, and b) the key to New Year Resolution Success is to aim low.

I also ranted about the weird things people say to pregnant women and posted a picture of me with an extra seventy pounds to love.

Yowza.  I still had seven weeks to go at that point.  SEVEN WEEKS.
February
We got really, really excited about the Olympics.  We also went on our first ever winter vacation and became a parody of Canadians as the kids got off the plane wearing t-shirts emblazoned with Team Canada logos, and instantly started running around shrieking in amazement, “Mom, look!  There are FLOWERS!  And they’re REAL!  And the grass is GREEN!  And there’s no SNOW!”
March
Mark turned six!  I had my usual crises with regards to birthday party planning and Daylight Savings Time.  I cleaned out the office and found a whole box of mix tapes, some labeled “Party Mix” and one that was made for my husband from one of his old girlfriends that included songs from Richard Marx.  Hee.

April

I turned 35!  I celebrated by chaperoning on a field trip to the firehall, and cemented my cougar-like status by volunteering to try on the firefighter outfit, discovering just how heavy said outfit is, and actually saying to the young and attractive firefighter “Wow, you guys must be in great shape.”  Coo-coo-coo-choo, Mrs. Robinson.  It also snowed a lot and I wrote about attractive movie characters who would be terrible to be married to, i.e., Ralph Fiennes in the English Patient.


My friend lent me a tiara for my birthday, fulfilling my lifelong dream of birthday crown-wearing.

May
Jake’s pre-Kindergarten class had a Mother’s Day tea in which they sang a song that went “May there always be sunshine, may there always be blue skies, may there always be mama, may there always be me”, and I still tear up thinking about it.  I also cried a lot thinking about this Tim Horton’s commercial and I got way too excited about the woman with the MBA with a concentration in economics winning Miss USA.  Clearly May is an emotional roller-coaster of a month for me.
It was still snowing in May.
June
It was really cold.  On Father’s Day weekend – and Super Soccer Saturday weekend – I attended a yoga weekend workshop.  Happy Father’s Day!  Now take care of the kids all weekend.  The kids finished school and my husband came up with a plan in case my kids ever decide to be protesters at a G-20 Summit. 
My two favourite pictures of Mark ever taken.  He’s getting his groove on at the end-of-school-Stampede-breakfast.  Note that it is June and Jake is wearing his fleece jacket.
July
It was raining and cold and I decided to make yarn octopuses, which turned out as well as any craft I make does.  Terribly.  We went to the Okanagan for some sunshine.  The cold and rain made me become Miss Carpe Diem, and so any day with slightly above average temperatures had me running the kids to the pool.
The yarn octopuses, Moppy and Bum, doing a duet of Heart and Soul.
August
It was still cold and rainy.  I wrote a lot about fashion, especially the jeans with zippered ankles that came out that made me feel like I was wearing turquoise slacks and a coordinating blouse, hobbling around with my walker and my Scotch mints, with a tissue in my sleeve.  Also – and my friend just reminded me of this yesterday – I saw a guy wearing a t-shirt that said “Vagitarian”.  I still laugh evilly thinking about it.  Vagitarian.  Says the guy who lives in his mom’s basement.
September
Mark started Grade One and Jake started Kindergarten.  We got hardwood installed by two attractive young whipper-snappers which led to many “hardwood” jokes.  Also I came home to find that they had taken out my drawers to move my dresser with ease, and my panty drawer was proudly on display for all to see.  So I had to show my panties to get hardwood.  Hee.  Also, Jake turned five!
Too cool for school!  Note the boxes of hardwood at right.
October
In typical October fashion we seemed to have a lot of viruses, dead squirrels, and excitement about Halloween.  Also I went on a two-night vacation with my husband and no kids!  And we all survived!  Actually the boys had the time of their lives and still talk about how awesome it was that Grandma picked them up at school.
Boo, I’m a scary witch!  For real.
November
It snowed a lot, I got ready for Christmas, I ran the Scholastic Book Fair, Mark barfed.  That pretty much sums up November.
A foam finger!  It says “We’re #1 – bp”.
December
I blogged almost exclusively about Christmas, Christmas songs, Christmas baking, and my new awesome sexy bitch boots.

Whew!  If you’re still reading this, thank you!!!  So 2010 was a great year, and here’s to a wondeful 2011 for all of us.