TREE & WARRIOR 3
I was browsing in the dairy section at Spencer's Market in North Morro Bay after morning yoga class and discussing sports with the manager, Jim, when a fetching, lithe girl around 25 glided past us and she actually paused to smile at me in a very friendly manner before moving on. Jim gazed at me as if to say, “Wow, who was that?” when I remembered her from my yoga class. So I called after her, yelling out, “Yoga class!” She was in a hurry, holding a basket, a brisk girl, but she turned and nodded and I could see she was laughing or at least chuckling at me, so I continued, “You're five times more supple than me, girl!”
She laughed, as if really amused, and moved on. She is not the first participant I have encountered at Spencer's after yoga class, as several of the older ladies must live around here and like me do their shopping, and we always greet each other and say a few words and soon part, as I am sure they do not wish to pursue a relationship with me anymore than saying hi and smiling like a good yoga person.
But this young lass, her smile was so ebullient, so sparking with some strange kind of appreciation at my being that I felt compelled to analyze it while Jim said, “What a cutie.” He winked. “Maybe she likes you.”
“Yeh, sure. I'm seventy three years old.”
Well, that morning and the last three yoga mornings this girl has rolled out her mat along the wall to the right side of either Reggie or Samantha, while I faced them directly, which means she could not help observing my yoga poses while I could not help but observe her stellar performance that bordered on star quality in relation to our 9 o'clock class peers.
“She was laughing at me, Jim,” I said. “But not in a mean way. Yoga people refrain from meanness.”
“I've seen her in here before, She's always sweet and pleasant.”
“I know why she was laughing at me.”
“Oh yeh? Why?”
“Tree and Warrior three.”
Jim had no idea what I was talking about, so I moved on, realizing that toward the end of the three warrior poses (peaceful warrior, exalted warrior and the final excruciating half moon) my attempt was beyond unsightly. I cannot seem to conquer warrior three, which involves standing on one foot and balancing oneself while extending arms out, so that the leg not grounded sticks far backwards and up. The fetching lass excels at this pose, her leg unwavering while I, on my left leg, lose my balance and crash into a protective pole to my left, and on my right foot repeatedly bump against the wall to my right, muttering and cursing under my breath, hoping nobody hears me expel “shit!”
Warrior three is terribly frustrating, even maddening. I am the only person in class it seems who cannot stand on one foot, and here I was a running back in football known for his excellent balance, and as a full time athlete take pride in my leg strength and agility.
Perhaps it is all in my head. This is what friends and yoga mavens Ethan and Contessa say when I explain my warrior three woes. I don't even tell them about “Tree,” which usually follows soon after the warrior series. My effort at tree is perhaps more unsightly and embarrassing than warrior three. I'm sure the fetchingly adorable and svelte lass who chortled at me at Spencer's could not help but notice my feeble attempts at Tree, which involves raising a foot and pulling it across your thigh or upper quad while balancing your body on a straightened leg. Then, slowly, you raise your hands far over your head and begin waving them around like the branches of a tree in a strong wind while remaining ramrod straight.
Well, I have yet to succeed at this part of tree and repeatedly crash into the pole when I try and balance myself on my left foot, which pains my bad knee, so that I cannot straighten it, so that it is, unlike my peers, bent. Well, I HAVE succeeded in actually remaining rooted on the left foot, but when I raise my arms and hands to I imitate a tree, bad things happen, like smacking into the pole, or missing the pole and careening in that direction and barely keeping my footing.
I'm sure the supple young thing could not possibly miss this clown display and did all she could to stifle laughter at the sight of me, and for that I thank her, surely.
My Tree on the right foot, my stronger leg, is not as pathetic and indeed holds a shred of respectability, as I do mange to actually stand quivering and swaying on the right foot and rest my “soft gaze” at a point on the wall behind Reggie—as he suggests—to hold my concentration and take my mind off collapsing or careening. I'm sure the wholesome lass saw me start to raise my arms like branches and have to reach out with my right hand to keep from crashing into the wall six inches away, and I'm sure she tried not to peek at me when I gave up on the waving branches and instead, like a 85 year old lady across the room, held my hands cupped prayer-like at my chest and did indeed manage to stand on one foot, though my leg was bent.
Looking around, fellow yoga participants keep their rooted leg straight, locked at the knee while gloriously waving their hands, and I know I must look like some gnomish statue in a park, knee bent, hunched forward, hands cupped at chest, tipping this way and that and eventually losing my balance in an ugly manner seconds before Reggie releases us from this pose.
Still, I'm trying. It's been almost 10 months and although I have made some progress, tree and warrior three elude me. After the class that followed my running into the young lass at Spencer's, as we put away our blocks, blankets, bolsters and mats (she has her own mat and holder) I made sure to pass by her closely and she again flashed me a friendly and engaging smile, and again chuckled, humoring a yoga knucklehead.
She laughed, as if really amused, and moved on. She is not the first participant I have encountered at Spencer's after yoga class, as several of the older ladies must live around here and like me do their shopping, and we always greet each other and say a few words and soon part, as I am sure they do not wish to pursue a relationship with me anymore than saying hi and smiling like a good yoga person.
But this young lass, her smile was so ebullient, so sparking with some strange kind of appreciation at my being that I felt compelled to analyze it while Jim said, “What a cutie.” He winked. “Maybe she likes you.”
“Yeh, sure. I'm seventy three years old.”
Well, that morning and the last three yoga mornings this girl has rolled out her mat along the wall to the right side of either Reggie or Samantha, while I faced them directly, which means she could not help observing my yoga poses while I could not help but observe her stellar performance that bordered on star quality in relation to our 9 o'clock class peers.
“She was laughing at me, Jim,” I said. “But not in a mean way. Yoga people refrain from meanness.”
“I've seen her in here before, She's always sweet and pleasant.”
“I know why she was laughing at me.”
“Oh yeh? Why?”
“Tree and Warrior three.”
Jim had no idea what I was talking about, so I moved on, realizing that toward the end of the three warrior poses (peaceful warrior, exalted warrior and the final excruciating half moon) my attempt was beyond unsightly. I cannot seem to conquer warrior three, which involves standing on one foot and balancing oneself while extending arms out, so that the leg not grounded sticks far backwards and up. The fetching lass excels at this pose, her leg unwavering while I, on my left leg, lose my balance and crash into a protective pole to my left, and on my right foot repeatedly bump against the wall to my right, muttering and cursing under my breath, hoping nobody hears me expel “shit!”
Warrior three is terribly frustrating, even maddening. I am the only person in class it seems who cannot stand on one foot, and here I was a running back in football known for his excellent balance, and as a full time athlete take pride in my leg strength and agility.
Perhaps it is all in my head. This is what friends and yoga mavens Ethan and Contessa say when I explain my warrior three woes. I don't even tell them about “Tree,” which usually follows soon after the warrior series. My effort at tree is perhaps more unsightly and embarrassing than warrior three. I'm sure the fetchingly adorable and svelte lass who chortled at me at Spencer's could not help but notice my feeble attempts at Tree, which involves raising a foot and pulling it across your thigh or upper quad while balancing your body on a straightened leg. Then, slowly, you raise your hands far over your head and begin waving them around like the branches of a tree in a strong wind while remaining ramrod straight.
Well, I have yet to succeed at this part of tree and repeatedly crash into the pole when I try and balance myself on my left foot, which pains my bad knee, so that I cannot straighten it, so that it is, unlike my peers, bent. Well, I HAVE succeeded in actually remaining rooted on the left foot, but when I raise my arms and hands to I imitate a tree, bad things happen, like smacking into the pole, or missing the pole and careening in that direction and barely keeping my footing.
I'm sure the supple young thing could not possibly miss this clown display and did all she could to stifle laughter at the sight of me, and for that I thank her, surely.
My Tree on the right foot, my stronger leg, is not as pathetic and indeed holds a shred of respectability, as I do mange to actually stand quivering and swaying on the right foot and rest my “soft gaze” at a point on the wall behind Reggie—as he suggests—to hold my concentration and take my mind off collapsing or careening. I'm sure the wholesome lass saw me start to raise my arms like branches and have to reach out with my right hand to keep from crashing into the wall six inches away, and I'm sure she tried not to peek at me when I gave up on the waving branches and instead, like a 85 year old lady across the room, held my hands cupped prayer-like at my chest and did indeed manage to stand on one foot, though my leg was bent.
Looking around, fellow yoga participants keep their rooted leg straight, locked at the knee while gloriously waving their hands, and I know I must look like some gnomish statue in a park, knee bent, hunched forward, hands cupped at chest, tipping this way and that and eventually losing my balance in an ugly manner seconds before Reggie releases us from this pose.
Still, I'm trying. It's been almost 10 months and although I have made some progress, tree and warrior three elude me. After the class that followed my running into the young lass at Spencer's, as we put away our blocks, blankets, bolsters and mats (she has her own mat and holder) I made sure to pass by her closely and she again flashed me a friendly and engaging smile, and again chuckled, humoring a yoga knucklehead.
