I am eternally grateful for the fact that my mother felt it necessary to document every other week of my first few years of life, for a multitude of reasons.  One of my favorites is a picture of me, just a couple months old, in one of my sister’s hand-me-down onesies with a big smile on my face.  The caption below reads, “I’m so happy, I’m bustin’ my buttons” …and I am literally busting out of that little outfit.  Now, little did I know at that sweet little age that I was in for a life full of similar predicaments.

I’ve grown up most of my life with 3 different sizes of clothes in my closet while my sister seemed to wear the same size 0 from age 16 to 30.  And diets?  I’d actually forgotten when I started dieting until an old schoolmate asked me, “Remember when you used to drink that cabbage soup back in 6th grade?”  Yup, that means I would have been 11 years old.  By the time I was 16, I was on prescription weight loss medication, and at 19 I was in treatment for bulimia.  Looking back on my struggles, at no time was I ever bigger than a size 10.  But at 5’2″, it doesn’t take much extra to make you feel different from the rest of the crowd.  This was, of course, before I learned the advantages to being different.

My relationship with weight and food started to improve after I’d been in Chicago for about a year.  I was reading a lot about women’s health and learning about nutrition.  I became great friends with Tracey, a naturopathic physician… who slowly weened me off my habit of 6 diet cokes a day.  Eventually weeks went by when I didn’t think about my weight hardly at all.  After 25 years of spending every day consumed with negative thoughts about weight and associating them with my value as a person, this was truly one of my greatest accomplishments.

You’d think I finally had a healthy lifestyle and lost some weight, right?  Maybe I did… but I still had my typical yoyo pattern.  (Chicago winters are fabulous for adding a few extra pounds.)  For the most part, I had my sizes 10, 8, and the revered size 6 that I only squeezed into 4 days after “that time of the month” was over.  In all honesty it was probably mis-marked  but who gives a shit because it said SIZE 6 and I loved seeing the number in my closet as I walked by each month, anticipating spending another night together on the town… discussing which heels would be so lucky to get to go out with us (my SIZE 6 and I) on our big, err…I mean skinny, night.

A few more years have gone by since then and I’ve even seen days of Size 4′s (bless them, there were few, but they were good) yet, as I face 30 I realize that much like my sister has remained her same size (be it a nonexistent one) I, too, am still filling my closet with the same three sizes.  What has occurred to me is that a Belle has never put nearly the emphasis on fitness as she has on nutrition.  And I’ve quickly found out, I’m not nearly as flexible as I was in high school as a cheerleader.  (Blink)

It all began with a “Groupon“, which in Chicago is a daily email that means “group + coupon = groupon” each day sponsored by some different company in the city.  This particular day it was to a yoga studio.  I thought, “That sounds fun.  I like yoga.  Hell, I’ve got several DVD’s.  I love watching Shiva Rea’s yoga videos… she is SO good!”  All of a sudden, several facts materialized.  1. I had 3 yoga DVD’s by Shiva Rea, all over a year old.  2. I had a brand new yoga mat.  3. I had cute yoga outfits, be it a little snug.  4. I had studied the origin of yoga, the practice and use in relation to meditation, read books on different types of yoga and health benefits.  I even consider myself a practicing buddhist and practice meditation regularly.  However, I had NO formal yoga training. None, nada, zilch, zip.  … and with that, I clicked “BUY NOW”.

Essentially it took me about a month to talk myself into actually going.  You know, a Belle has to get prepared.  And me, well… when it comes to the unknown I have to cross all the unknown t’s and dot all the unknown i’s.  I arrived at the studio and was surprised to find that it wasn’t filled with my old cheerleading friends.  In fact, it looked more like the people I’d seen strolling through the grocery store.  I quickly noticed there were Belles (and Beaus) of all different sizes too, which I loved.

The next thing I knew, class had begun.  We started with child’s pose and focused on our breathing.  I was sweatin’ already, and all we’d done was something called “child’s pose” and learn to “breath”.  I found this to be mildly entertaining, but managed not to giggle.

….15 minutes in and I was sweatin’ like a hog in summertime, desperately trying to figure out how I was gonna get my fat ass out of there without disrupting the whole damn class with my heavy (un)ujjayi-like breathing.  I had no idea I was so out of shape!  I’m proud to say, I made it through the whole class, but I had to get down in child’s pose and catch my breath about 3 times and I still think it was divine intervention going on in there for me that night.

As class came to an end, we were instructed to lie back on our mats, “take up space”, and “release something stressful from our day”. (After looking around the room, I learned this meant to lie down and reach your arms over your head as if you were signaling a touchdown.)  I immediately decided this was my favorite yoga pose and regardless of what it was called, I was going to rename it the “Score”.  After that everyone put their hands next to their sides and closed their eyes and we were asked to take a few breaths.  I certainly had no problem doing this, as I was still trying to catch mine.  The next thing I knew I felt (what I assumed was) the instructor’s hands press my shoulders down gently towards the ground and slowly apply pressure to my neck, pressing toward the ceiling very slowly.  She then made two small circles applying pressure at my temples and finished by pressing down on my forehead…

I thought I was going to cry.  I wasn’t sure which “stressor” she had just released from my day… but I wanted to know if she could do that if I came to her class every day.  I couldn’t move.  I didn’t know if this was because of exhaustion or if she had sprinkled some kind of magic yoga dust on me that made me a believer in whatever this “hot mess of movement” I had just signed up for was.  The class finally returned to our “normal” breath and wiggled our toes…(check, I wasn’t paralyzed)… and sat up to finish in what the instructor called “heart’s center”.  This is essentially indian style with your hands together in prayer in front of you.  In unison the class said, “Namaste”.

I can’t quite describe how I felt after my first yoga class.  It was like I had just taken a really good nap and at the same time I was exhausted.  For the first time in months, maybe years, I didn’t have hundreds of different thoughts running through my head at once (and I’m not sure I ever knew what that really meant until they stopped.)  I came home and felt refreshed.  I wasn’t sure if I could make it through another class, but I’m so glad I went back.  What has followed is several weeks of being truly grateful for the small accomplishments I’ve made on the mat and for the first time in my life finding something that, dare I say… I ENJOY doing for exercise.  I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I do.  And don’t get me wrong, there’s times in class where I feel like I’ve gone postal, but I’m always glad I went and I’m always ready to go back.

…and I promise they don’t serve you any “koolaid”.  So I say, with summertime coming up, give it a shot.  Give anything a shot.  Let’s sweat our “Belles” off.  I’ll keep you posted on my journey and let me know about yours!

NAMASTE