On chair pose and chest pain

I’m writing this post primarily to document two events of personal interest that transpired in the last twenty-four hours. So please forgive the lack of structure or theme. (Or don’t read any further.)

Firstly, chair pose: I have no problem doing it but have been really struggling to teach it. In the sequence I must follow in order to graduate, I have to guide the class in and out of chair pose three times in a row. Not only is it challenging to say the same thing three times differently, but also there is a widely held perception that chair pose is tortuously difficult. I disagree, but out of empathy for my students I have been trying to teach the posture as though they are in constant discomfort.

Not surprisingly, forcing enthusiasm and commiseration has not felt authentic. Though I have been communicating all the necessary instructions, I haven’t felt good about doing so. I, and presumably my students, have just wanted that part of class to be over.

After expressing my frustrations to a teacher during dialogue practice over the weekend, she suggested I go home and sit in chair pose for five minutes, in order to become intimately familiar with the nuances of the posture and how I feel about presenting them. Out loud I was like, “okie dokie, will do!” but inside I was like “SERIOUSLY?! FIVE MINUTES IN CHAIR?!” Normally chair is thirty seconds, a minute, max. I know I said I have no problem doing it, but holding it for an extremely extended period of time is another story.

Or so I thought. And really, it’s all about thought, because the very idea of a marathon chair pose brought me to tears last night as I was in self-imposed solitude, studying my sequence for a prescribed minimum of three hours. I ended up handwriting an eight-page script for the sequence I’m teaching, as I seem to process information best when I write it down. And since the pace of writing by hand is slower than the pace of speaking, I had the time and space to be very picky about which words I used, which body parts I named and how. I know I won’t ever repeat exactly what I wrote, but this type of slowly and carefully constructed foundation will fortify my subconscious so that when I’m on my feet and in the moment, the best words will find me. (Fingers crossed.)

So I dutifully penned the particulars of the first fifteen minutes of class. But when it was time to describe the details of chair pose, I realized I had to try out the five-minute thing in order to gain the knowledge I wanted to convey.

But I did not want to try the five-minute thing. So much did I not want to try it, I whimpered and moaned. Some tears joined the pity party. I scrawled a note of complaint. And then I stood up, set the timer on my phone, and sat into chair.

I focused on taking slow, deep breaths so as to avoid glancing at the timer. By the time I gave in and looked at the clock, the screen had gone black–it’d already been a minute! At least! And I wasn’t dead! I shifted my attention to my burning thighs, which, really, because of the oxygen my steady breaths were distributing, weren’t burning all that bad. I experimented with bending my knees more, with bending them less. I asked my shoulders to sink and my spine to stay straight. I asked myself not to reach over and touch my phone.

I failed on that last part, but was pleasantly shocked to discover I had less than two minutes remaining in the posture. How the heck had three minutes already passed? I hadn’t even tried closing my eyes yet! That I did do until I heard the celebratory beep of the timer, and after some some very welcome back stretching, I found I had plenty to write about.

I’ll get a chance to try out my new approach to teaching chair in a couple days, and I can’t say for sure whether my students will like my style, but I know I’m going to feel comfortable teaching because my words will carry personal meaning. And I will carry the confidence of someone who knows she can sit in chair for FIVE MINUTES! What a cool discovery to make about my own strength! And the weirdest part is I sort of want to try it again.

So that was chair pose. And then there’s the chest pain. Or, more accurately–more thrillingly–the current lack thereof.

I strained a chest muscle a few weeks ago. It was a small strain as a result of hasty effort, but the pain has persisted. Nothing unbearable, more like a twinge every time I raise my arm or do a push-up. At first I tried to take a few days off from practicing, but that proved impossible. My desire to practice was greater than the amount of pain I felt. And with frequent applications of arnica gel, the injury seemed to be getting better. In fact, by the time we had group Bikram class on Saturday, the pain was almost nonexistent.

And then it came back with a vengeance. Maybe the heat blinded me to the sensations of my injury, or maybe I just worked too hard. (It’s tough to take it easy when your teacher is powerful and persuasive.) But for most of Saturday and Sunday I experienced sharp stabs of pain anytime I moved my arm, and goodness gracious was I in for a treat if I wanted to roll back my shoulders. In fact, pretty much all of my muscles were sore by the time Monday rolled around.

But this morning, when I stretched my arms into a tentative sun salutation, there was no pain. Nowhere. I don’t know why not. I did a chakra healing meditation last Friday that seemed helpful at the time, but that was before the weekend and the re-straining. Maybe the effects of the meditation had prolonged benefits? Maybe the five-minute chair pose redistributed my energy? Maybe my body just needed a couple nights with enough sleep?

Beats me. But while I don’t understand the absence of pain, particularly in my chest muscle, which by all logic should still be hurting, I’m certainly grateful for the lack. One way or another, yoga is transforming me, inside and out. Big-time hooray for that!