I can’t remember just how or why, but for some reason my
lovely wife Marjorie talked me into attending an exercise class at our local
gym some years ago. The class was Silver Sneakers and we found we liked it. Now
we are veterans, having attended the class faithfully for several years, long
enough to wear out two different teachers. We meet other “Sneakers” on Tuesday
and Thursday mornings for an hour where an attractive young woman with an
athletic build leads us through a series of aerobic exercises, lifting
dumbells, and stretching rubber bands.
As its name suggests, the class is geared to those of us in
the senior set. A requirement for attending the class seems to be grey hair or
no hair; fortunately, I qualify in either case. Mostly women attend the class,
a circumstance that I find pleasant enough since they provide little competition
for me in the category of who is the largest dumbbell, I mean, who can handle
the biggest dumbell in the class.
At a recent class, the teacher announced that she was
offering another class – chair yoga, on the following Wednesday. “I’m in,” I
announced to the assembled class. And so, it came to be that on the following
Wednesday morning I found myself in another, smaller group of women intent on
learning the secrets of yoga.
“Namaste” the teacher said at the front of the room. Her
hands were folded in front of her chest in what appeared to be a position of
prayer. Most of the women in the class repeated the same expression. I mumbled
something like ‘Nah-maw- stay’ that I hoped sounded approximately correct.
After sitting silently for a while, our leader began breathing
deeply while she continued her vacant stare. I panicked. I thought she was
experiencing an attack of pleurisy or something. Soon, I noticed the ladies
sitting around me were also breathing heavily. It dawned on me that we were supposed
to imitate the teacher so I started breathing heavily and waving my arms about like the teacher. We went from the arm
waving to standing, balancing on one foot (I tried but faltered after two
seconds) and then waved our arms some more. It was tiring. And that was just
the warm up. Next, we saluted the sun and after standing in an impossible
position for what seemed like an hour or more, she announced we were next to do
the warrior pose. I don’t know which army these warriors were in, but I can
tell you they were strong dudes. The class ended after many such poses and
stretches. I was so tuckered out that I nearly went to sleep during the
meditation at the end of class.
That was my first class. Yoga is still something of a mystery
to me, but here is what I have learned after taking five of the chair yoga
classes taught by our lovely teacher:
Yoga began more than 3,000 years
ago in India after a yogi began teaching the way to immortal life by following
his regimen of exercise and meditation. Both Hindu Swamis and Buddist Monks adopted
the practice of proper breathing, exercise, meditation, relaxation and diet
recommended by India’s yogis and it became part of their religious traditions. The
exercise regimen that evolved became one of stretching and stressing muscles by
adopting poses that are held until the exerciser cries ‘uncle’. At least, that’s
how it seems to me. In America, yoga has become less of a religious practice and
more of an exercise regimen, thanks in part to an American judge who ruled that
yoga can by taught in schools for its health benefits that modern medicine now
confirms.
I have to admit that the greeting ‘Namaste’ is still a
mystery, however. It means something like “My heart honors your heart” or “I
bow to the God that is within you” or some such thing. Until I learn more, I’ll
be at the Wednesday class trying to remain upright while on one foot. See you
there. Namaste.
