It all started one Whitmonday five years ago. Our Iranian neighbor was always seeing me study for my upcoming high school entrance exams and she thought I needed a break. She told me to get up early the next morning and join her for yoga class. The yoga studio she frequents – and recommended I join – is an Iyengar Centre, and I had only heard good things about it. My aunt, an extreme Iyengar Yogi who had taken a few classes at said studio a few months earlier, supported the recommendation, and the next thing I know, I find myself face down, my hips attached to a ballet bar by a belt in Adohmukha with a yoga teacher speaking broken Greek-English-German pulling my arms and pushing his head into my back until it made an unfamiliar cracking noise.
I leave the studio after receiving Vasili’s business card. He recommended the practice as part of my training, as he definitely thought it could help not only my dance but also my stress levels and self-perception. I however, was not planning on returning. I was frustrated by the intensity of the class and bored with holding a position for a long time. My mind was not present and constantly drifting to the work I had left to do, or the dinner plans I had made. I was also at a point in my life where every kind of physical activity had to cause a sweat to be counted as a sport, which at the time was not what I saw in yoga – oh, how I was wrong.
…short reflection to be continued
With attitude and nail polish, Anoushé xoxo