“Yoga After 40 Will Kill You.”

Via Deb Lecos
on Feb 18, 2016
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Flickr/Lisa Picard

My daughter is 22. She is finding that what her body once used to do—Gumby bend on a dime—is growing more difficult.

Her toe, which used to nonchalantly loop around her ear while she inhaled a bowl of cereal, now stubbornly refuses to go beyond her cheek. The young woman is startled by this shocking reveal, her eyes staring at me in horror, while I try not to smirk with knowing superiority.

By the time I notice that my own bendy-ness had been limited by the hardening of age, my toes struggle to rest on an opposite knee while I put on a pair of socks. I am at the very-nearly-seeming-dead age of 40.

By the time I am told to try yoga, I have creaked up another two notches, and the idea sounds ludicrous. This suggestion is made by Mark, my teacher at massage school. His notion is a response to the sight of me sweating a torrential downpour as I massage a marathon on someone’s back.

Not able to see him from beneath the waterfall of my body liquid, I gasp between piglet breaths and nod my consent. It is easy to say yes to Mark. Young, handsome, kind, he is the fantasy of most of the older segment of our class.

It seems weird to lust after someone young enough to be my son, but the creepy desire gets me to do something I don’t want to do. Which is how I enter yoga when I’m too old, too stiff and far too aware of my mindful limitations.

Having grown up in California, I have now lived most of my adult life in the Midwest. Which means my sun-streaked hair has gone by way of the same drain as any youthful California dreams. This is evident when my cranky mind-talk far exceeds the, “this is new and cool” quotient my first day on a mat.

Yoga is going to kill me.

Straight out of the gate, our class is instructed to lie back in corpse pose, which at this point sounds appropriate. The intention is to become aware of our bodies.

Considering what it takes for me to get down on my knees one at a time, then sort of lean-to-topple over to the ground, I am hyper-aware of my body.

Sweet Jesus I’m out of shape. I’m gonna die or break something important.

It’s a good thing we stay on our backs for several of the next poses, otherwise my mat-mates would be enlisted to group leverage me up. Pointed into what is considered the “easy” Down Dog, I crab crawl into position. My belly sways left, then right, finally jello-settling into place.

This is bad. Very, very bad.

My hamstrings twang in protest, having not been forewarned of the travesty they were to endure. Thoughtfully, my right quad muscle spasms, making my Down Dog roll over.

Keeping my scream to a moaning wail, I try to maneuver my legs into position for Warrior One. They both let me know they will not be manhandled. Instead, my legs and I perform something similar to the Hokey Pokey. The instructor is trying not to stare, probably noting that I’m close enough to the door to limp an escape.

In a cult-like maneuver the teacher begins to tailor the class to my brick and mortar form, while piling on the compliments.

“Oh that’s a good tree pose, Deb,” (both of my feet are firmly rooted into the floor),

“Nicely done,” (she is referring to the lasso maneuver I utilize with a strap to rope a wayward toe) and

“Congratulations! You made it through your first class.”

Always a sucker for getting my a** kissed, I buy a six-month package.

Over the next several weeks, I drag myself to humiliation school for Mark. Not because I will leave my husband—even if an old lady body intrigues the young man—but because he believes I can do it.

Someone has to think it’s possible; I certainly don’t.

The endless sigh I emit standing in front of the yoga studio becomes a weekly tradition. I have no idea what madness is about to ensue, only that it will involve me in a pose that has no relationship with how it is intended.

I begin to enjoy my role as the “don’t” part of the class, making jokes—or rather, sharing what my snarky inner-self is jabbering nonstop:

“Will someone help me move my boobs out of the way?”

“I think this pose is going to end badly for me.”

“Is being able to touch your toes important?”

Nearly at the end of the six-month package, yoga finally gives me a gift. I’m still not any better at getting down on the ground or back up—my bendy quotient still ranges in the negative—but a long-term issue with shoulder pain has disappeared.

This spontaneous absence causes me to become aware of my body, not in the negative but in the positive way. I can now hold my awkward rendition of a pose, minus sweat rivulets running through my butt crease, and lie in Savasana in a peaceful state, without snarky commentary.

That’s not entirely true—but I do manage to keep it to myself.

At the finish of a class when we’re asked to emit a single OM, my breath doesn’t snuffle out with a piglet gasp; it lengthens well beyond my expectations. Perhaps the weekly endless sighs have assisted in strengthening my lungs.

Off the mat, my version of hydro-massage dries up, my neck swivels with swan like grace and I find that with a wobbly tree pose, I am able to put on my socks. Yoga has killed the old non-bendy me, giving birth to something new and adaptable.

On the final day of massage school, I am selected to give Mark a neck massage. Letting go of my girlish crush long enough to remember how old I am, I give back to my teacher.

As Mark lays on the table, I note his slow, even breath and ability to accept this moment. Throughout his treatment, Mark represents a centered yoga pose, one that I decide to master.

How to simply “be.”

I learned that taking yoga after 40 will kill you. It demolishes what used to be, leaving behind an opening for what can be. There is breathful possibility in an endless sigh, a reminder that a California girl is still under the ever-changing woman I am becoming.

~

Relephant Reads:

Yoga for Beginners: 5 Things Every Newbie Should Know.

Just Be. {Poem}

A little bit Older, a little bit Wiser: 4 things I Realised on my 40th Birthday.

~

Author: Deb Lecos

Assistant Editor: Jaimee Guenther / Editor: Toby Israel

Image: Lisa Picard/Flickr // Kullez/Flickr

~

159,611 views

About Deb Lecos

Deb Lecos LMT, CST-T is a regular contributor to elephant journal, freelance writer, and speaker on topics of healing, enlightenment, parenting, nature and shamanism. As a business owner/practitioner/mentor of the healing arts, she utilizes CranioSacral Therapy, Visceral Manipulation and shamanism. Deb is currently working on a memoir about her triumph over an abusive childhood. Deb lives in Illinois with her husband, where everyday living often collides with mystical moments of hoo-ha. These are the events on her blog. She has a loving-via-text relationship with her two children who are on an extended sleepover in the ancient rain forest of adulthood. You can follow Deb @DebLecos, on Instagram or on elephant journal.

Comments

35 Responses to ““Yoga After 40 Will Kill You.””

  1. nate says:

    well written, thank you! i have similar experiences as a novice to yoga in my late 30s.

  2. Bren Murphy says:

    Just keep turning up – the only thing you have to remember is how to push the studio door open.

  3. Maren says:

    OMG, laughed my asd off.

  4. Akello Stone says:

    I love how you ended this article! I started a yoga practice at 44 and 2+ years in, I am still growing by leaps and bounds in all areas of my life. Yoga reminds me that we are, truly, always evolving if we are willing to do the work and that means periods of feeling uncomfortable!

  5. clarathegreat says:

    Hi! Thanks for sharing your experience. I also started yoga at 40 – and now I’m in yoga teacher training. There are lots of ways to be in your 40s: I’ve had ahemm, relations with men 20 years younger than me – and it was pretty awesome. I love to dance, drink cocktails, have my 2 daily cigarettes, read, laugh, entertain – and of course do yoga. I don’t think your 40’s are old – much less near dead – at all! I’m 46 now and in better shape – mental and physical than ever. I look better too. We are indeed ever changing – that’s the beauty of life and that’s what keeps a youthful spirit.

  6. Deb says:

    Thank you Nate…amazing what we find out about ourselves after 30 🙂

  7. Deb says:

    SO right Bren…thank everything I've got quite a few yoga teacher friends…they keep me on the mat 🙂

  8. Deb says:

    hahahahaha…me too…every time I look at myself doing yoga!

  9. Deb says:

    Yeah…I'm a pro at uncomfortable. I've got itchy brain synapses cracking the whip on me, so I keep trying new things…to hilarious results. Thank you for reading!

  10. Deb says:

    Hey Clara, thank you for commenting! What a great life you have. I'm 54 these days and I completely agree, getting older ROCKS.

  11. Peter says:

    Fun article. Being out of shape is going to kill you, working out isn't the problem. Don't forget to lift weights, yoga is only part of the answer.

  12. Deb says:

    Thank you for commenting Peter. Yoga killed the old me that was resistant to change, leaving being a belief that anything is possible, even yoga after 40.

  13. Gabrielle Johnson says:

    I’ve tried yoga so many times I’ve lost count. In fact I laminated my last “yoga retirement” lest I ever be tempted again to enter a yoga studio. This article made me laugh in the deep belly breath kind of way I never mastered in yoga! Loved it!!!!

  14. Jim Lee says:

    If you think 40 hurts….you're gonna hate 68! Great writing Deb.

  15. Deb says:

    Now, now. If I can do it anyone can! That's a "rule" btw.

  16. Lynell Rae says:

    Love this Deb. So raw and honest – got a healthy chuckle reading it. Thanks for sharing.

  17. Shawn says:

    Very fun article! Very accurately descriptive as well! I really should go back and give it another shot!

  18. Deb says:

    Thank you Lyn!

  19. TahitiNut says:

    40? Forty!??? Sheesh! A mere child!!

  20. Deb says:

    Hahaha…this was a memory. I'm 55 and yoga still elicits comical results 🙂

  21. Betty says:

    I remember the beginning Deb, I also remember a mass recruitment campaign to make all of us then over 40 partners in your new bendy club! Funny read, great visuals!

  22. Deb says:

    Me? A recruiter? Nah, must be someone else!

  23. Deb says:

    Hahaha! Jim I'm 55 now so I see the trend, though if I'm as pulled together as you are at 68, I'll be counting myself grateful.

  24. Deb says:

    Thank you Lyn…laughing is a form of meditation so at least I got the Savasana covered in the article 🙂

  25. Deb says:

    Yesssssssssssssssssss. If we believed in "should" that would be true. How about "why not"?

  26. Diamond says:

    I could not stop laughing the whole time I was reading !!! Your descriptions about had me rolling on the floor. I say about because I don’t think I’d be able to get back up if I got down there.
    At 47 I have considered trying yoga, but can not seem to muster the courage up for fear of humiliating myself . Your post may have been just what I need to give it a try. Thank you !

  27. Kristina says:

    Thank you for sharing what is undoubtedly true for many.

    Remember, you don’t have to go hard to get better at it and get benefits. I am a big proponent of easy slow yoga. I have been taken to heaven doing slow yoga. And just going to where you can go is enough. That is what an old yoga teacher told me “you get the same benefit as someone who can go farther”

    And with that gentle practice it will get easier and easier.

  28. Kristina says:

    I am 49. I've been doing yoga since my 20s. I am not as flexible as I was then but it doesn't matter. In my 20s I used to just go UP to a upward dog so easy…I could just stay there. Now it's almost impossible and doesn't feel good. But there are benefits to now. Now I actually do the poses more carefully whereas before I did not. You can hurt yourself with yoga if you are not careful. Please read about this, especially an important chapter in "The Science of Yoga". You want do it but be careful and mindful and know the "x" rated poses. Now I do it and I don't care how far I go. I still get the same bliss. And I know I can go farther in my practice if I work at it. Just takes regular practice/

  29. Cassie says:

    Wow! Thank you! I love this article. I’m approaching 40 and recently noticed a new yoga studio close to my house. I was thinking of joining but was reluctant. This article is my confirmation! Nice!!! 🙂

  30. Deb says:

    Way to go Diamond! It's worth the laughs and the Gumby maneuvers come in handy at my current age of 55 🙂

  31. Deb says:

    So true Kristina, so true. There are days when Down Dog is more like Curled Possum and I'm grateful to have gotten that far. Thank you for commenting!

  32. Deb says:

    Exactly Kristina! Such helpful comments. Thank you for sharing.

  33. Deb says:

    Go for it Cassie! I don't regret a single hilarious moment. I love yoga and I'm now 55, more than a decade after my original snarky comments in class 🙂 Have fun and thank you for commenting!

  34. Ha! 40 is NOTHING! Wait until you bust into your 50s!!! If you haven't learned to respect when your body says "NO" by your '50s, your body will TEACH you obedience. It will show you who is boss, and can only be gently coaxed into cooperation with much time, patience and reevaluated goals.

  35. Deb says:

    I hear you Debra…I'm 55, this was a throw way back 🙂 My body has the first and last say about a Gumby maneuver, she very loudly tells me who is actually in charge of walking around on this planet. Thank you for reading and commenting!