You smart people who have discovered my blog “Yoga with Eve Grzybowski” (eve2.chaos-central.com for Facebook readers) have probably figured out that the title is a play on “Yoga Sutra” – hence the Sanskrit-y font.
But it’s also true; yoga suits me down to the ground. Always has. Well maybe not always but since 1971 and my first taste.
When I was a flight attendant, I preferred doing yoga in my hotel room on layovers, rather than going out drinking with the crew.
When I lived in New York, I did yoga with a swami. In California I did creative visualization yoga with a nice Jewish lady who lived at the beach. In Sydney I did Satyananda yoga with an Austrian woman named Gertrude and Oki yoga with an American oriental therapist.
There was teacher training in Iyengar yoga (1980), mentorship with mad Martyn, and eventually I began to settle into my own practice.
Yoga suits me so well that more than taking it with me wherever I go, it’s part of me.
In the months leading up to my surgery, yoga prepared my body/mind for the operation and sustained me in recovery.
Post-surgery I did whatever breathing I could do and began to mentally claw my way back from the heavy drugs.
I made myself do things I didn’t think I could do, even the first time I got up off the bed and stood on my own two feet.
This period in rehab allowed me to establish my yoga practice early each morning. The pool and physio exercises, while not based on yoga poses, were yogified by dint of my effort and focus.
So, tomorrow I can walk out of here on my new legs and hips, without sticks, and head north to the Yoga Shed and home.