Once upon a time, I was a truly athletic girl. I was a swimmer most of my childhood and even as I grew out of that I tried a multitude of different sports: cross country, volleyball, tennis, softball and into my late teens into adulthood: Rock climbing. Long story short, I made an almost grave mistake of free climbing alone and fell 27 feet to a ledge 80 feet up a rock face, only to shatter my L1 vertebrae ending in a titanium spinal fusion of my T12-L2 (which is right on your waist line).
About a year later I met, Jason, who would later become my (ex) husband. We shared an unhealthy lifestyle of late night sundaes and deep fried chicken. Red flags practically lined the isle to the altar. When he cheated and left me inexplicably 10 months into being married, I was blind-sided and broken in half. June 2009.
In August 2009, I met a friend who introduced me to Bikram Yoga. As difficult as it was athletically, it brought up my deep seeded issues with abandonment. My father left our family when I was 5, returned again when I was 12 for 3 months and haven't seen him since. A marriage is supposed to be your most stable relationship, the most secure. As you take vows and make vows, your words are a promise. In my case, only to be absolutely shattered. So I spent many a practice in tears, working through physical and emotional wounds. At times, it was too much. I skipped a lot of yoga practices because it was simply too overwhelming to continue to delve into old and fresh wounds. And when I would go, I hated what I saw in the mirror and would ignore all the yogis and yoginis as I was convinced of their judgement of me.
In January of this year, it hit me that as much as I loved my ex, it was an unhealthy relationship and caused unhealthy habits of eating and exercise. I was 170 lbs at 4'11". I wanted to lose some weight and work on me. I began my practice of going just once a week. Then twice. Then three times. Then four. And here I am now. I still spend some practices sobbing through the postures; something about pushing my salt skin and my salt tears brings out my true emotions that I fear to feel and causes me to feel the power in the posture itself. Every time. It is pure beauty to be hurting so much and still carry on. Even more to be hurting so much and push forward on purpose.
On Wednesday, I weighed in at 125 lbs. I was so ecstatic I ran home... If you've been following my blog I just recently started running.
A year ago, I never would have fathomed that I would be where I am now. Not a size 4, not healed emotionally (almost), not carrying a healthy, trusting and loving relationship with a fantastic, open, and patient man. Not running 2.5 miles at a time. Not liking myself in the mirror. Not a yogini and definitely not pushing myself deeper into postures daily. Not loving all the yoginis and yogis in the torture chamber with me. Not loving life. Certainly not.
Imagine where I'll be in another year.