There are a few different sides to the story of why I decided to do a 30-day Bikram Yoga challenge again. I was emailing about it with Ruby Warrington — the next thing I know Bikram Yoga Rotterdam announced ‘The March Madness Challenge’ where you can sign up for -you guessed it- a 30 day challenge: 30 yoga classes in 30 days.
All very nice and synchronous, but not actually what made me do it.
See, I first started thinking of every reason not to do it. I mean, 30 days in a row is pretty doable, but it does require sacrifice. You need to set aside a big chunk of your time every day for thirty days. You are perpetually sore. You have to plan ahead in a lot of different areas: In clothes, in food, in washing, in how your entire day looks. You have less time for social events, less wiggle room to slack off, and you have to keep your priorities straight, very straight. Also, I envisioned the possibility of getting fed up with doing the 90-minutes routine every day again for the upcoming thirty days.
But what it came down to was this: I was feeling like shit.
I was feeling like shit and I was getting pretty desperate about getting out of it and feeling good again. From past experience I can safely say that whatever I need, yoga gives it to me and more. And at this point, I had gotten desperate enough. I was in yoga class and something inside me went “Fucking fine. I will fucking commit to my yoga practice again, JUST GET ME OUT OF THIS FUNK.”
It wasn’t about doing something impressive. It wasn’t about doing something cool; it was about doing something necessary.
Because I knew that everything would be better than how I was feeling at that point. Getting out of bed at 5:45 for five days in a row, the most extreme soreness, the worst yoga class, even the worst fuck-this-and-my-big-mouth moment? All that — still going to be better than that empty unhappy feeling that I’d been having for the past couple of weeks.
Which was why any reason why I couldn’t do it completely lost its meaning to me. I mean, fuck that. And so I walked up to my yoga teacher and asked him to put my name on the Sign Up Sheet.
That simple gesture made me feel a rush of relief. I was like ‘okay, cool (and about damn time).’ Let’s do it. Turning back to the very thing that had always taken care of me. No mindfuckery, no bullshit, just daily yoga practice.
‘Just’ going to a yoga class for two weeks now. Yes, I am sore. When I wake up, I am
a little stiff. Yes, I am tired sometimes. Yes, I have washed a lot of towels and yoga shorts.
I’ve been pestering Manfriend about physical changes (DO I HAVE ABS YET DO I HAVE ABS YET), but as you can see from the picture above: There aren’t really any. I feel good in my own skin though, and I can feel that my body is functioning better (in terms of sleep, digestion, metabolism).
The mental changes are pretty cool. By doing that yoga routine every day I become so much more relaxed and focused. The racing thoughts slow down, I become calm, I find a spot from which I can actually see what is going on in my own head. I get a quieter, more organized mind.
Every time I do the yoga, I realize I’m coming back to an important part of my self. Even when it’s a shit class, even when I can’t focus and even when my body is tired, I always come out with that nice, familiar energy that carries me throughout the day.
The most important thing about the yoga right now though is that everytime I do it, I feel something inside me calm down, and I feel trust. I believe that everything is going to be alright. I think for now, that’s enough.