Physio wasn't going so well and now that time has passed and of course with time's passing comes clarity, if not crystal, at least some sort of understanding. I think my I can do it on my own thinking, my surgery avoidance, my historical Bad Knees, all this has really messed me up and of course on top of all that I'm just plain getting older. Things take awhile to heal now. Anyways, when my super kind, sweet and very knowledgeable physio watched me weeping on the table he promptly scheduled me with a sports med doc to see what else could or should be done.
That just happened to be the week I was able to finally isolate that muscle that has been causing him such consternation - squeeze! squeeze! - to now avail. But now, the tiniest squeeze has turned into ten seconds and on Monday I thought, hmm. Yoga.
Yoga is a natural resting place for me, obviously a moving meditation. Where muscle by muscle, layer by layer, I can dig deep. And of course, the added bonus of a pretty decent workout at the same time. I hid in the corner, beating to my own drum while the instructor led the very full class through poses I mostly did in my head. But still. It felt so amazing to a) be there and to b) move, that I went back this morning, bringing with me Stella.
Of course we were late, rushing in at 9:30 a.m. on the dot, her nervous and me a little mad, and as we went up the stairs and I was saying no more talking, AT ALL, she said are we late? Of course we are, I said, just go in and do what everyone else is doing.
Except yes, we were late, but no, there was no one else there. Not a soul. And the instructor came and she modified the class for us, the ten year old with tight hammies from running so much, and the forty year old with tight everything from moving (not much) and being ginger about it all.
I could see how far my knee could go, turn my toes a little, stretch my arms to the side and realize how compacted everything has become. What a thing, to take that time in that beautiful golden floored room, to bend and stretch and wiggle and twist and breathe. Oh, to breathe.
And when we were at the beach this afternoon, where Stella was the oldest of all the children and I saw her a couple times, once teaching a five year old to breathe and stand tall, another time I saw her sitting on the grass in lotus, facing the water. Just sitting. At peace.
Yoga does that.