The two wheels of Yoga
Attentive readers may recall a column last year admitting to years ill-spent sitting too high on the bike before the Shiny New Bike. A cycling sage intervened at the set-up and brought our seat down to a height that might preserve hip-function for a couple more decades than otherwise.
In our imperfect world it is possible to do something wrong and get away with it. There are plenty making careers doing just that. But karma catches up.
Or so I had the chance to consider while grasping for my slippery right ankle this afternoon. Darlinghurst’s Bikram Yoga College of India tempts beginners with a $17 pass for ten days. There I was, on day six at my fourth class, teetering on my left leg pondering the Tin Man rustiness of my right hip, while all around the room lithe and lissom lads and lasses had moved on from the first step of grabbing ankles with the correct grip to balanced poses of strength and beauty.
Pedal-pushing strengthens some muscles more than others. So as not to become cumbersomely muscle-bound, sensible cyclists stretch thoroughly. Which is what I was doing.
Bikram Yoga is the one in hot rooms. [At my second class I misplaced my mat in front of a heating vent and was forcibly reminded of a cycling tour in India some years back when, weak from heat stroke and food poisoning, I took shelter against the midday sun beneath the fickle shadow of a palm tree while buzzards spiralled impatiently above.] Some cite the scent of sweat as a deterrent to adopting this discipline. Some may be finding a way to avoid hard work, which this is, albeit worthwhile, as long-lost mobilities are restored.
It is great to get around the streets of Sydney on a bicycle. As great as, some day, to sit on a floor with grandchildren.
Life’s rich tapestry has many threads, each to be appreciated not only for itself but for how it relates to the others.
by Peter Whitehead
