Me and Yogi

As you age, your athletic skills diminish. Doesn’t matter how good you are, there is a declining return. Nothing can stop that inevitability. But what doesn’t really ebb is the competitive nature – the will to win, the passion to push through pain and desire to triumph. I discovered that by joining yoga. Yes, yoga.

Time to step back a few strides.

The realization that competition was still important first become apparent last fall. My first real half-marathon (the year before an injury prevented full run) and all the targets set were about me – that was the only person I was competing against. And the competition was successful, targets met in terms of time finished and weight lost.

Second half was also same internal targets. And struck them off my list.

The latest half was the BMO in Vancouver. It was the first time I’d ever raced outside of Victoria, training schedule was sporadic and mostly didn’t want to embarrass. There was, however, a point in the race when it was irritating to have people pass. Rationally, these are people who are – for the most part – substantially younger. They are fitter. They should whup my ass. But…

There were times during the race when it was important to use your inner voice and to tell yourself to run your own race. We’re not racing the people beside you. It’s against the clock. Don’t push too hard, run your pace and finish the race.

Yes, the person passing is 25 years younger, exhibiting perfect form and doesn’t appear to have broken a sweat. Doesn’t matter. It still rankles. However, you can take that irritability (it doesn’t really rise to anger, as they are just that much better) and concentrate into something beneficial.

First two races, never noticed if there was even age classes and how I’d fared. But at BMO it caught my eye. Though many people had passed, power to them, this was a way to see how I was doing against other old farts. Some of them were kicking my ass, to be honest; never likely to catch them. However, there are times that are manageable.

As a runner, that’s what it becomes about – setting new PBs, looking for edges to improve each time out. Now there are targets. If others can break this time, than it sets a goal for the future that seems achievable. Let’s be honest, there’s a small window of time – as an old guy – where improvement is possible; won’t be long till it’s about maintaining and then setting new goals of slower times.

And that brings us to entering a yoga studio.  I never imagined myself wandering into such a space, rolling out a mat and lying quietly for class to start. There are a variety of reasons, for this. Chief among them being by 140-lb, high school rugby/football playing self couldn’t touch his toes without bending his knees; flexibility has never been a strength. Plus, not to hide from the truth, the whole touchy-feely atmosphere that surrounds yoga is kinda weird; the constant optimism, I imagined, must be well and truly exhausting and trying to remember all the strange names that go with each pose.

Actually, it is the remembering to breathe at the right time which might be the most challenging. Something as normal as breathing shouldn’t be too challenging, but it was (is). And the shaking of the inner core while struggling to maintain position is a new feeling – some old muscles being rediscovered and they are very unfriendly, seemingly they were happy in hibernation.

There is frustration, for sure. But that’s expected. That’s the aim of attending the classes. Strengthen the core and making sure the old knees can keep on trucking. So there will be no giving up, no whining and no expectations. I don’t foresee a day when I’m a yogi, at the front on the class, and I’m at peace with that. That’s sorted.

Wanting to be competitive on the road means you must be competitive in the studio. So, while it may seem inharmonious, yoga has helped to capture the competitiveness need to stay fit and healthy. And now, I’m late for yoga, and I must go contemplate the incongruity of life.