Me and My Humungous Yogic Ego

by Lori Dwyer on March 29, 2010 · 8 comments

Ohhhhm,

I mentioned last week that I love yoga. I also mentioned that I find it akin to a nice deep eight hours sleep (pre-children, of course, I don’t even know what that feels like these days), but that it makes my body hurt for the next two days. Amy from the New Adventures in DreamWorld went into her self-confessed yoga Nazi mode to remind me that if yoga hurts, I’m obviously doing it wrong.

Undeniably true. I can only imagine my yoga teacher would agree. In fact, I know she would. She has told me so before.

Apparently, the problem is all in my humongous ego.

Before I go on, allow me a elaborate a little on my yoga teacher. She is one truly astounding women. Astounding not being a word I use very often, being fussy about words in context, but it’s the best word for her. Astounding.

She is short, with unstyled hair, thick glasses, and no make up. She looks like your typical tired run down 40-ish mum. And to look at her, you may even make the mistake of calling her flabby.

Only once, but. Until you see her quite effortlessly do this.

The women’s physical appearance totally belies her strength and flexibility. As does the fact that she is completely socially awkward, and whilst a very proficient teacher, her classes can be the social equivalent of fingernails down a chalkboard if she actually decides to deviate from the script and get conversational. Thankfully, that doesn’t happen very often.

Despite the occasional social ‘drowning not waving’, she is a brilliant teacher. She teaches us mostly Vinyassa, with an occasional Ashtanga session thrown in for good measure. It was after the Ashtange session that I complained about how excruciatingly sore every muscle in my body was. Even muscles I didn’t even know I had were aching and thrumming every time I foolishly turned my neck or blinked my eyes.

Why? What had I done? Wasn’t yoga supposed to be gentle?!?

Apparently, yes. The problem here, you see, is with me. And my massive ego.

This is what my ego likes to whisper to me, mid-yogic stretch….

Go on, you can do it!! It doesn’t matter that you haven’t taken a yoga class in three years, you used to be able to do this. Go oooon. That chick over there is doing it. You can do the other poses!! Push it, push it, push it!! No pain, no gain!!

As you can probably tell, my ego bounces around in a fluoro pink g-string leotard with a ‘Choose Life’ t-shirt and a sweatband. Product of the ‘Push it till it burns” Eighties that I am.

And it’s my poodle-haired, Hypercolor-wearing fitness instructor ego that gets in my ear and makes me do things like this. The Tunnel.

Silly, silly Lori.

Ah, well. Them’s the breaks. Can’t have your zen and eat it too. My astounding yoga teacher and guarana-ed-up ego will be locked in battle for some time, it seems, until they come up with some kind of Reebok Step Xtreme Yoga for People Who Want Their Chakras With Attitude.

And let’s face it. It could be worse. Rather than Astounding Yet Awkward Yoga Women, I could actually have this guy for a teacher.