Tranquila. Tequila?

I spent last week in Sayulita, Mexico. Most Seattleites know it-- it's a popular destination for us cloud-soaked Northwesterners. My partner Nancy, my daughter Lucia, and my mother (Karen) spent a week in a gorgeous house overlooking the beautiful Bay of Banderas. Most mornings, we'd set up for the day close to the fishing boats at the less-crowded end of the beach. The waves there were perfect for surfing and boogie boarding, not too big for Lucia to be in on her own, big enough to have some fun.

On our fifth day at the beach, Nancy and Lucia were playing in the water with Rosa, a new friend who, though she spoke no English and Lucia no Spanish, resulted in a two-hour ocean playdate. About twenty minutes into a game of salt-water football, Nancy came hobbling out of the water. "I need you to go in. Something happened to my foot," Nancy whispered to me as we switched our water/land posts. 

I watched from the water, distractedly throwing the ball with Lucia and Rosa, and noticed my mom marching purposefully up to the fishing shack at the back of the beach. I walked toward the shore and noticed Nancy gesticulating wildly for me to come up to where she was lying down, her injured side rigid, hands white-knuckling the lounge chair beneath her. "I need you," she was mouthing. As I got closer, I could see that Nancy's foot was bleeding. A lot. My mom came down with two locals from the shack and they started blotting Nancy's injury with gauze. By this point, Nancy was crying, "It really hurts. It really hurts," she whimpered.

Within minutes, a new face, a fisherman just in from his work day, approached our umbrella. He took one look at Nancy's foot and said with a quick nod towards Nancy's bleeding foot, "Mantarraya." By this point, Nancy was freaking out. The pain was getting worse and, judging from the blood, it looked as though some sea creature had taken a chunk out of her little baby toe.  Thankfully, I speak Spanish, and was able to translate for Nancy that our rescuers' conversation indicated that the fisherman was going to make an herbal remedy. "Que? De que?" I asked. "Es bueno" they said, we should just wait.

With Mom, Lucia and Rosa a safe distance away, happily playing in the surf, Nancy was freaking out.  "This is the worst pain of my life." Tears were running down her cheeks and she was breathing heavily. A big guy who had initially brought us the gauze, stood above Nancy, offering her some shade. "Tranquila" he said softly as he moved his hands up and down in the motion of slowing down an orchestra. "Tequila?" Nancy asked. I translated that, while tequila might help, he wanted her to try to calm down. "Respire" he coached, taking big breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth. Nancy followed suit and started to calm down. We would learn later that night that panicking is the worst thing to do when stung by a ray because it increases your circulation which aids the progression of the painful toxins through the body. In retrospect, the big guy's guidance was likely the most helpful part of managing the pain.

By this time, the fisherman had returned with the tupperware container filled with boiling water and Peguano, a plant they all swore would make it better.  Having just dealt with two days of nursing a vomiting Lucia after eating apparently unclean beach food, I was skeptical of putting dirty leaf water on Nancy's open wound, but they all seemed so nice, and we didn't have any other options. 

The fisherman began rhythmically slapping Nancy's injured toe with a gauze pad soaked in the boiling herbal remedy. Big guy was still coaching, "Tranquila. Respire." Nancy eventually just shoved her little size 6 foot into the container and, after half an hour, she declared that she and her foot were fine. 

We watched the wound for a few days, worried about infection. Our friend Jessica the doctor back in Seattle prescribed a preemptive antibiotic in case Nancy's foot took a turn, but it was never needed. Nancy's foot was fine. Was it the Peguano leaf? Yes. That shit was some kind of magic. Was it big guy's instruction to "tranquila" and "respire"? Most definitely.

On my first day back teaching, I watched (as I often do) the room full of hard working students, faces contorting in challenging postures, sweat pouring, and thought to myself, "Tranquila." "Respire." No matter how big or small the storm in your body-- a sting ray bite, a one-minute Triconasana, a dehydration headache-- use your breath to get to the calm. And, if that doesn't work, there's always tequila.

Your body heals your body

In addition to teaching yoga, I have a little side biz. I own a couple of properties that I rent out. Because I'm stubborn and cheap, I often do the cleaning and repainting myself. Last summer, two units came open at the same time and I spent a solid 5 days painting trim and shining toilet bowls. As a result, my left shoulder froze in place and I couldn't move it or my neck. My good friend Leslie, also a body worker extraordinaire, squoze me in for an emergency session and got me functional, but I've struggled with a bit of pain and compromised mobility for close to a year.

Recently, in one of Penni's ass-kicking classes there was an injured student who could use only one arm to practice. Half-moon, one arm. Awkward, one arm. Even Standing Bow, one arm, no arrow.  This student had a great attitude. She practiced with a calm, relaxed face, and seemingly without the frustration that many of us have when our practice is hindered by an injury.

For those of you who know Penni, you know she's a hard ass, but she's loving and supportive and kooky in all the best ways. During class Penni called out the student, praising her for working so hard despite her injury, and then she launched into a little speech about how the body heals the body. Many of us grew up with medical doctors telling to "lay low" when we're injured. What Penni was saying was, lay low but don't shut down. Practice anyway, and see how your body heals your body.

My neck/shoulder is almost better. I am physically at my best when I am practicing Yoga regularly. I have a pretty perfect equation for my exercise week going right now-- 3 days running, 3 days Yoga. If I tip my balance--run extra or skip Yoga, I feel it. My neck is tight. My shoulder whines a little bit.  But I know what to do. I know that skipping Yoga because my shoulder hurts or because my neck is tight will only exacerbate the problem. I know that moving my body, using my body is the one thing that will heal my body.

Remember when you practice Yoga that perfection is never the goal. "Performing" is not part of practice. Every day you bring your body into the room to practice, and every day, that body is different. Listen to your body-- to the depths, the limits, the different places it can go (or can't go)-- and practice with that body. Whether you have an injury or not, your practice is so important to keeping yourself healthy.  Let your body heal your body.

Car sick

Probably the most frequently uttered words from my mouth over the last 15 years have been, Inhale, let your belly rise. Exhale, let your belly fall.  I speak those words multiple times daily when I teach Yoga, and for the last ten years, I have used them in a bedtime ritual for my daughter Lucia.

Last week my family went to New Orleans for my partner Nancy's father's 75th birthday celebration. Their big Sicilan family had multiple parties including an all-day craw fish boil, a wine soaked, rich, meaty meal at an Argentinian steak house, and a 30 person celebration for St. Joseph's Day where we all ate way too much Pasta con le Sarde.

Usually we stay in New Orleans, in the French Quarter or the Garden District, but this  time we stayed at Nancy's brother's new house in Mandeville which is on the North Shore. For those of you who've never been to New Orleans, The North and South Shores are separated by Lake Pontchartrain. The way to get from one shore to the other is via the Causeway Bridge, which is 25 miles long.

On our fourth day in New Orleans, after four days of too much rich food and drink, we headed back over the Causeway to the south shore for one last party before our evening flight back to Seattle. Nancy drove and her brother Billy sat in front. I hunkered down in the back seat with the ten year olds--Lucia and her cousin Kaye.

From a young age, I have always been prone to motion sickness-- cars, boats, planes-- I don't do well, and back seats are never a great idea for me, but there was no way I was going to squeeze Big Billy into the back seat of our mid-sized rental. I'm really used to getting car sick. Nancy and Lucia have a hilarious imitation of my deep breathing, eyes closed technique that I regularly employ on turbulent take-offs and landings.

The Causeway is one straight line with ritual bumping for 25 straight miles. By the time we reached land, my head was hanging out of the back seat window like a hound dog, eyes closed, hair blowing. While Nancy and Billy chuckled good-naturedly in the front seat about my sorry situation, Lucia took matters into her own hands.

On this last stretch of the drive, I felt Lucia patting my back, "Inhale, let your belly rise. Exhale, let your belly fall", she said over and over as she patted my back. She spoke very softly and it was hard at first with the wind blowing in my ears to hear what she was saying, but then I heard her clearly. Oh yeah!!! My breath. I can use my breath to get through this drive. And so I did. As we drove those last few miles, I listened to Lucia's voice, felt her little hand patting my back, and focused on those two things. Before I knew it, we'd arrived at Nancy's parents' house on the South Shore, ready for one more party!

What would Stephen Hawking do?

"When one's expectations are reduced to zero, one really appreciates everything one does have."

Stephen Hawking

Last week I saw the movie The Theory of Everything, the biography of Stephen Hawking. As most of you know, Hawking was struck with ALS when he was twenty-one years old. The syndrome eventually rendered him wheelchair bound, debilitated to the point of essentially living in paralyzed body with virtually no effects on his mind.  Now Hawking, in his seventies, has defied all odds in surviving this long with ALS.

My family went to see this film at the request of my 10-year-old daughter Lucia who is all about math right now. My partner Nancy, Lucia, and I sat in the movie shoving popcorn in our mouths between bouts of sobs. Even Lucia cried throughout the movie.  After dinner, over sushi, we talked about Hawking and how clear his mind was, how amazing his long life has been. In our iPhone research at the sushi counter, we learned that the average life span of someone diagnosed with ALS is 2-5 years, with five percent living twenty years or more. Hawking has surpassed even the small number of people who survive longer than a handful of years. Why?

There was, of course, the deep deep love and commitment of his wife and family, the energy and support he received from his academic community, his motivation to learn more about time and space. But even with all of this love and support, I am astounded by how much mental and emotional strength Hawking must have to have lived and worked for as long as he has.

Whether I am practicing or teaching yoga, I am aware of the inherent conflicts that exist between the body and the mind. Sometimes you feel ready mentally to kick out in Standing-Head-to-Knee; you've made your plan for the day's practice and kicking out is on the docket. But when you do it, your body says no to balance or your stamina disappoints. Other days you are completely unmoored mentally and/or emotionally and, even if your body is ready for it, you can't muster the motivation to go for the kick. 

My advice to myself and to my students when conflict in practice arises is to "be where you are", to make space for all of it. If you can't balance, it's not because your body is failing you, it is because, in this moment, you can't balance. If we can accept that moment in time and move on from it, let it go, then we step away from the conflict that comes from wishing we could balance or hold the posture. Ultimately it's not imbalance that creates the conflict; it's the unmet expectation. Solution- get rid of the expectations.

Stephen Hawking slowly, consciously, painfully watched his body succumb to limitation after limitation until ultimately, his physical body was rendered useless, just a shell to house his brilliant mind.  When I think of him, I imagine much of his long life has been an exercise in reconciling the conflicts between his body and his mind. While his body was shutting down, his mind was thriving, vibrant, brilliant. If Hawking had spent his energy fixating on the evolving presentation of limits to his body, could his mind have grown as it did? I imagine not.

Yoga practice is a place where we can learn and grow, physically and mentally, ideally a space where we can be at peace, free of conflict. It is a time where we enter into a different space. Leave your expectations at the door. As you lay down your mat, make up your mind to open your mind to whatever comes to you that day. And, as Stephen Hawking tells us, you might "really appreciate what [you] do have."

The Elephant in the Room

This afternoon I spoke to my mother in Arizona who asked, "Have you read the latest on Bikram?" And then I checked my email and there was a message from my partner titled, "You'll probably want to read this." Bikram is in the news. Again.

Since I started practicing Bikram Yoga, it's been controversial. In 1994, when there was not even an "official" Bikram studio in the city of Seattle, the controversy was about the heat. "I don't get it." "What's the point of the heat?" "That's not really Yoga." Eventually, as anyone who practices Yoga in 2015 knows, heat is now everywhere. I can only think of a handful of studios in our whole city (and there are hundreds of studios) that don't add heat. So, that's not really an issue any more.

Then there was the controversy of Bikram franchising Yoga. I've spent years telling my students that The SweatBox is an independent business, that we don't pay any money to Bikram himself, that we teach the purest form of Bikram Yoga but we don't pay for this right. We are free agents. Some people may not have known this. Now you do.

Of late, the controversy is the sexual assault allegations against Bikram Choudhury, the founder of Bikram Yoga. As a feminist and a proud owner of a business in which we strive to cultivate an empowered group of employees --mostly women and a couple of really awesome men--  I cringe at the thought of being associated with anything that reeks of abuse of power, sexism, assault, disrespect. I am a feminist. I am raising my daughter to be a feminist. I believe that Yoga is a path to self-discovery and that being a Yoga teacher is a role one must practice with the utmost care, respect, and love.

The allegations against Bikram are deeply troubling and they sadden me to my core. I remember when unfortunately similar allegations surfaced about John Friend several years ago. Seattle Yoga Arts, a studio that offered Anusara Yoga, founded by John Friend, is one of the oldest, most well-respected, highly regarded studios in our city. I felt heavy hearted for that community as the newspapers spewed about Friend's sex scandal exploits. I practiced at this studio recently and loved it. The energy, the space, the grace with which the class was delivered. It is a sacred space indeed, one that has not been broken by the actions of any one person.

Reading and rereading the news reports about Bikram's alleged actions gives me an ache in my belly. My heart breaks for every woman, and I've known many, who has been exploited, abused, disrespected, violated.  I become a raging lunatic when I imagine my daughter, my partner, my sisters exposed to the kind of treatment Bikram is being accused of.

I write this very personal blog to be clear about where I stand. For twenty years, Bikram Yoga has been a path to physical, mental and spiritual health for me. I have not personally been exposed to negative behaviors or actions from Bikram the man, but I stand behind the women who have been violated in their relationships with him. As a business owner, Yoga teacher, and human being, I do, have always, and will continue to cultivate and nurture a space where women and men are safe, respected, and free from actions that violate their sense of health, safety and wellness.

No comprendo

I know I will not be popular for this post. And I apologize in advance for posting maybe my most annoying, preachy-esque post. I know people will feel like I am a curmudgeon, and maybe I am..... but, I just don't understand football. I don't understand why it's okay to stop the world for a football game. I know I must be missing something here, so maybe you all can help me understand.

Last year I watched the Super Bowl and I kind of loved it. I loved how everyone came together and randomly ate Skittles. I loved being "sporty." I really loved the community feeling. And then about six months ago I read an article in the New York Times about a class action suit being filed by NFL players who've sustained major brain damage. And then I learned that the NFL is a non-profit and gets major tax breaks. It doesn't help that I have a kid in Seattle Public Schools and they kind of suck and could use a big infusion of tax dollars (maybe from the NFL).

My partner, unabashedly unsupportive of pro-football, happens to be an employment lawyer and makes a really good argument for how we have evolved as a culture; how we no longer support jobs that injure people; how in fact those jobs are illegal in current day, at lease in the United States. But not the NFL, not football. No comprendo.

I have tons of friends, virtually all of my friends, who are pro-football. They aren't pro-brain injury or pro NFL being a 501(c)(3), but they all watched the Super Bowl, throwing down in support of pro football. No comprendo.

I contemplated canceling our 4pm class at The SweatBox on Super Bowl Sunday. I really figured no one would come. And part of me wanted to experience the collective excitement of our city. Then I remembered a few weeks ago when, on MLK Day I wasn't able to attend the huge downtown march because I was working. I could have attended had I canceled class.... That sealed the deal. If I wasn't going to close to honor a great man who changed the world, I wouldn't close to watch football!

I covered class for the regular teacher. I guess she went out of town, maybe to the Super Bowl..... I prepared for having one or maybe two students in class. I sat behind the desk, one of the handful of people in Seattle not wearing green and blue at that moment, listening to the cheers from every direction, and waited. One person, two, five, ten, fifteen people showed up, all with stories of trying to go to their regular studio to no avail because everyone was closed. For the SUPER BOWL.

You can imagine what an amazing class it was. More than usual, everyone really wanted to be practicing Yoga. Even with our heaters blaring, Savasana was periodically interrupted by cheers or stomps from fans running through our hallways into the streets and back into the building, but we just laughed. One person lifted his arm from corpse pose and shouted in response to the noise explosions, "Go Hawks" into the otherwise silent room of bodies. It was ninety-minutes of hard work, great focus, and amazing energy and everyone was really happy and grateful to be there.

This morning at the studio, many people came in downtrodden, forlorn, so sad about the loss of our team. I read things on Facebook that surprised me-- descriptions like "heartsick", "devastated", "destroyed." I don't really have a point here. It's a question. Help me understand football because really, no comprendo......

44 seconds

I am one of the people who didn't watch any of the winning Seahawks playoff game. On that Sunday, I decided to run the six miles to work. My run from Seward Park to Capitol Hill is mostly along the lake, a path widely traversed by runners, walkers and cyclists. But on this Sunday, I only saw two runners and maybe five cars. It felt creepy, like I'd missed a memo to get into the bomb shelter or something. 

It all became clear once I got to work. Above is the text I got from my friend Cuc as I was getting ready to open the doors for the 4:00 p.m. Yoga class at The SweatBox on Capitol Hill on the Sunday of that amazing performance by the Seahawks. It took me a couple minutes to sort out what "TD" and "OT" were, but once I did, the enormity of that text hit me. Just before that text, I heard the whole neighborhood collectively scream and peeked out the window to see throngs of people hugging each other and guzzling beer in the middle of the street. I figured we'd won, but I didn't know the details. 

I heard from my students as they raced in to make the 4:00 p.m. class how AMAZING the game was, how the Seahawks made it happen at the eleventh hour, or as Cuc described, in the last 44 seconds.  As I often do in an effort to make my classes relevant to life, I seized the moment to use the "44 second lesson" in class that Sunday, and I've used it several times since.

According to the reports I got about the playoff game between the Packers and the Seahawks, the Seahawks were kind of sucking and they got some rough luck for most of the game.  Then, at the end, everything turned. They never gave up. This happens in Yoga  a  l  l    t  h  e    t  i  m  e.  You come in expecting to have a class similar to yesterday's class. You've hydrated, you haven't eaten for three hours, you slept well last night, you have your favorite yoga top on. And then, wham, you fall out of Standing Bow four times. You bonk out in Triangle. You fidget like you have the chicken pox. What the hell!??? That energy can be all-consuming. It can hijack you and send you on a path to self-loathing and despair. It might have been where the Seahawks were heading.....

But the game isn't over until it's over. There is always time, always a moment, a window to turn things around. Jermaine Kearse and Russell Wilson found that moment with the 35-yard touchdown pass (I read about that in the paper).  

You might think that switching the direction of your energy between Standing Separate Leg Stretching Pose and Tree Pose is not such a big deal, but it is. It's the practice of committing to yourself, to not giving up. You might feel like a loser for 90 percent of your class, but that's not who you are. That's  simply how your practice is for that blip in time. I don't know how Jermaine and Russell did it. I don't know what they told themselves, but whatever it was, it worked. It won the game. When you are in Yoga, there will be infinite moments like this. Times when you feel like you're headed down a path of no return, a path you don't want to be on. Stay committed to your vision, to the practice you want to have. It might take some time to get there, but it can happen, maybe even in the last 44 seconds.