108

I did 108 sun salutations this morning. It's been almost a decade since I've done this. My version of a marathon. My version of a summit. Because while those things have never really interested me, I do love something about that goal. Though Solomon didn't sleep beautifully, I did have enough three or four hour stretches to feel reasonably rested this morning. And while my more rational mind thought about the things that could go wrong -- strained wrists, a body still not in good enough shape to hack it, I hit it anyway.
Come on, Gil. Just go. You keep talking about it.
I love my husband and his ability to be direct. So off I went.

We began. The first dozen or so brought out memories of the strong Ashtangi in me, the me who in her early twenties found herself racing rush hour traffic to make it to a 90 minute practice in Silverlake. I was skinny and twitchy. Totally overwhelmed. Naive and new in a chaotic field. My brain filled with images of needy dark children, stacks of papers to go through, the looming national standardized tests. Savasana was my greatest struggle. A lifetime of dance training kept me flexible and strong. Keeping my mind quiet was another struggle.

That was twelve years ago. The last time I did 108 sun salutations, I was in a packed, fancy Los Angeles studio. This was not a solstice event, but a weekly class for die hards. The little bald headed instructor greeted us drill sergeant style. It was a lot of numbers, a count down. I battled my way through, caught up in the challenge.

And then there was this morning. Four and a half months post-partum. Still fleshy and busty. Still unable to fully extend in navasana. The muscles still reforming. But something about the email invite got under my skin. Could I do it? If I couldn't do it, could I be gentle with myself? Find grace? Just be in that space. Honor myself for the attempt?

Suddenly we were a quarter the way through. Our reward was a splendorous wide legged bend, fingers interlaced behind us, shoulders and arms stretched overhead. I felt my hand hit the floor. I smiled inside. I was open. I felt clear and grounded and strong. Three quarters to go.

And then I started to get into the zone. The closest place, perhaps, to the effects of a hallucinogen. That place between contractions during labor. I'm not sure if my eyes are open or shut. I'm totally focused on what's happening in my body. The weight that each bit of finger is taking in down dog. The spiraling open of my things from a forward bend. The grounding through my feet in tadasana. Sometimes I felt the urge to sit one out, felt my hips releasing back to child's pose. Sometimes I felt like stepping instead of hopping, flowed down knees-chest-chin, just like I was taught. I never knew what my body would ask for, but I tried to keep my ears open.

Then the images came. I'd look down at my glittery toenails and remember the way Eliana and I played beauty parlor on the back deck yesterday.


The way she held out her little fingers for me to paint just like a lady. Light from the window reminded me of the light at dusk. Sitting in the vineyard, taking in the gold of Mt. Jumbo. Elie and her BFF racing through the field. My baby in my arms.




I jumped forward again. My left breast, Solomon's favorite, began to find it's way from the modest casing of my tanktop. I thought about our connection. The ease with which he inhabited my body for all those months. The way, as Case so aptly put it, he looks at me like we're sharing an inside joke. The best inside joke ever, all the time. My guy. So my guy. Won't even let Jeff shush or soothe him in the night. I'm trying to take it as a compliment.


So then I've moved from Hello Kitty polish to Jumbo to my love of the light and all things Fall, to my sexy little boyfriend and we're at 75. Holy shit. This is so cool. Because if I had stopped to rationally think about whether or not I could do 108 sun salutations today, I most likely would have said no. Hell no. But there I was.

Somewhere towards the end Brian started to describe the beads on the mandala. This one is orange with glittery silver specks, this one gray. Each bead connected to the images in my mind. To my intense concentration. To the trippy, cool zone I'd inhabited. And suddenly he was saying something about taking our last eight. And that was it.

So here I am. So calm and strong in my body. So psyched to have had completed that. To be in a new zone. To be done having children. On the one hand, it makes me look ahead. To re-energizing my practice. To setting new goals. On the other hand, it makes me so value what I have. My extra flesh. The heaviness in my chest. The way I share my body to sustain my son.


Don't know how to wrap this one up neatly, except to say, that was cool. I took myself to lunch afterwards. Between savoring sips of my beet/ginger bisque, my feet happily propped up on the wrought iron chair next to me, skin soaking in the Sunday sun, I felt that place of balance. That thing that brought me to yoga in the first place. That concept I began to wrap my self around and embrace. That goofy award my boss gave me years ago. The award for the word Balanced goes to Gillian. And just when you think you've got it all figured out, you go make yourself crazy. Make two children. Work two jobs. Try to maintain. That place of balance you thought you found is way too easy to leave.

Being a mama of two can easily make one feel off kilter. There are times I'm so tired at the end of the day, I can barely manage to pick up a piece of paper from the floor. God bless my child who has learned to cut. Learned to adore band-aids, their evil little wrappings strewn about, my need for order constantly disrupted by her ridiculous whims. Then there are moments like this where I wonder why I even care about the paper on the floor. Nobody else cares. It's just the moment we're in. And it's not tidy. Yet I know in some moment of exhaustion next week, I'll get unreasonably frustrated with Eliana when she doesn't pick up her pieces of paper. I'll be quick. I will lose all mellowness.

As Eliana said to me yesterday, Don't give me the hairy eye-ball, Mama! Think she was on to something...gotta let go of the hairy eyeball. Jeff even captured it in the breakfast pic.

So let's move forward already. Move towards a new goal. Loosen up a bit.

Here's to the fall. To 108 sun salutes. To sweet chaos. To blazing reds and dusty golds.


To new found strength. To the strive towards balance. Again and again and again.