Knowing When to Lower the Barre

The day of the solar eclipse, I had an inspired idea. “I should go to barre class!”

My initial plan for that day was outdoor meditation, perhaps accompanied by mantra. I weighed the two options. “Let’s be bold. Let’s do barre class.”

A tiny inner voice reminded me of the old wisdom of not practicing Ashtanga yoga on new moons (low energy and increased chance of injury) or full moons (high energy and increased chance of injury). The high energy of the solar eclipse coursing through me quickly drowned out that tiny voice.

Off to barre class I went. It was all I imagined and more: warm greeting, great energy of the class, inspired music, challenging sequence, stunning views from the windows. I modified the movements to accommodate my spinal projects.

This will be my every Monday class, I thought, half-way through the session.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. Inflammation ran rampant through my body and I did end up running those mantras I’d originally planned… only not when I’d planned. 3:30-5:30am, while an acceptable time for meditation, was more of a cruel joke that night.

I texted my massage therapist the next morning and she was able to get me in. As I’ve moved to a new town (and new massage therapist), I shared the running joke I had with my previous massage therapist:

She would ask me, “What did you think you could do this time?”

And I’d share whatever class or activity I’d been inspired to jump into since I’d been feeling so good from my regular qigong, meditation and cycling routine.

Then, she’d work her magic and settle the inflammation in my body.

I commented to my new massage therapist how most of the women in the barre class were older than I and they were all regulars. I should be able to do the class!

This morning, feeling like an awkward human-grasshopper, I wobbled into the kitchen, the insertion points of my calf muscles into the backs of my knees so tight, I couldn’t straighten my legs. And then it hit me.

Something an old friend said to me over a decade ago.

I had taken my son, perhaps age 3 at the time, to story hour at the local library. He loved bedtime stories. I had a proud mom moment feeling like this would be an excellent activity for us both.

While all of the children sat quietly listening to the library volunteer share the story while she flipped through the boldly-illustrated pages for all to see, I ran up and down the book aisles trying to catch my giggling son who darted between genres.

By the time I caught him, I was so hot (both in temperature and mood), that I dragged him, still giggling mind you, through the parking lot and into the car.

Once settled at home, I called my friend and broke down in tears over the exhausting morning events, “All of the other kids sat quietly. Why wasn’t anyone else running around except my son? All the other moms got to enjoy their time.”

My dear friend, whose children were older than mine, said to me, “Because moms with high energy kids don’t go to the library for story time.”

Ohhhhhhhhh.

It’s not that I shouldn’t venture out into whatever activity lights me up. It’s that I need to know and honour what suits my nature at this time in my life.

I loved the barre class. I will continue it at home with creative reconstruction that suits my needs. Who knows… maybe someday I’ll offer classes for those whose bodies no longer mesh with an hour of intensity. Or the kids who can’t sit still for story time.

Much love,

Stephanie