My first yoga class

Can you remember your first ever yoga class? Did you love it? Hate it? Or were you unsure but came back to try it again?

I can still remember the class I took my first year at Boston University. A swimmer and dancer all of my childhood, I was active and athletic but didn't know what to expect. I was also excited because this was something new that my family had never been a part of. Perhaps yoga could be "my thing."

I squeezed my black mat between two others in the back of the room next to the mirrored wall. Just then the teacher walked in; a petite and shapely woman, she wore a full-length black bodysuit with spaghetti straps. Was I wearing the wrong outfit, I thought? I was right back in my childhood ballet studio. Fearing the yoga teacher would be as unforgiving as my strict ballet instructor, I sat up a little straighter.

But yoga was different.

Her gentle manner made the room hush to hear her instructions. Mountain Pose was our first posture. I stood at attention making myself as tall and straight as possible for 2 minutes. And then she had us do it again. We repeated each pose, I thought, since we were new and learning how to do each one. But I soon realized that this was part of the practice. To hold a pose for a time, release, and then do it again.

Holding active postures for longer periods of time creates a different kind of strength and stamina, not only physically, but mentally. Repetition meant I could practice it again but also that my body was better prepared the second time. All my proprioceptors were saying, "Okay, we know what's coming." I also felt incredibly stable afterwards.

I watched in awe as the teacher moved easily into headstand and other postures that looked difficult. Her bodysuit, it turns out, was for function, not fun. It made it easier for us to see the subtle movement cues she shared to help us feel the stability and strength in each posture for ourselves.

At the end of class, the teacher led us through some breathing exercises. Something she said about the exhale being more important than the inhale lit up a part of my brain. Swimming countless laps growing up, I was constantly looking for the perfect moment to take my next breath in. My focus had always been on the inhale. Was I going about it all wrong, I wondered?

I exhaled long...slow... and completely. Ah, much better. The relaxation response kicked in and I knew that I'd found something special in this practice.