Make Mine Yogurt

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.