My husband and son have a term for when I trip and topple down a hiking path / stair (singular. Yes, I know) or random blade of grass. It is moniker I received while hiking at the farm and I tripped: Blueberry. As in “Mom! You totally looked like a blueberry rolling down that hill.”
Blueberry also serves aptly as a verb: “Remember that time you blueberried at Science Fair and almost landed on me?” Apparently despite not wearing a large blue sweatshirt I still managed to resemble a bouncing blueberry as I toppled down the woody decline. I trip so frequently that I now tuck and roll reflexively.
I could blame my tripping on enthusiastic perambulation or lack of self-awareness and surroundings, but truly it has to do more with balance. My balance is woefully poor. So to improve my flexibility, strengthen my core and blueberry less often I began practicing yoga.
I’m no stranger to yoga, I have believed in the pants for decades. I quickly came to adore this form of exercise and here’s why:
1) Darkness: There are no Broadway floodlights here to intimidate. You cannot even really see yourself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Especially if you commandeer the coveted back row. The group privacy encourages one to attempt an extremely awkward pose without fear.
2) Lack of competition: Because it is “my practice” comparison has no place. I cannot stick my hoof behind my head and that’s just fine. Beginners are welcomed and not expected to have a flawless “table,” “plank,” “downward dog”, or “resting gator.” Hey, it’s Shreveport, LA, we’re gonna make it our own.
3) Moderation is encouraged: I have waited my whole life to hear the words, “If it hurts, stop.” What? The last time I listened to my body it whispered “do the whip” in The Starbuck’s line. In this relaxing, restorative environment there was no way to overdo. Yoga, you had me at “if it hurts, stop.”
It is so great to stretch, people. My right clavicle is not throbbing and I trip less taking the dogs out in the morning. It’s nice to no longer be met with the “she put Jim Beam in her Cheerios again” look from the neighbors. It just IS. More stretching, less blueberrying.
Even if I am routinely singled-out for pose enhancement (read: your left hand makes an L when you stick both hands out) it just doesn’t matter. I am tickling 50 and have earned the right to take up mat space, try something new and get incrementally better at not falling down hills.