by Mark Boast
IT almost started with the beginning of a series of questions from an Admiral Surgeon at a Navy leaving medical. “What are you doing to keep fit – not running I hope!” His hopes aside, my military career and subsequent retirement was littered with running as an exercise. So I took his question as one of those rather lame jokes professionals makes when their victims are in no position to respond. Dentists fall into the same category.
The questions went on and along with various manipulations of my knee and medieval prophecies of longevity, pain, and impending infirmity, the seed of an idea the good Admiral was hammering into my head began to germinate.
Of course his news wasn’t unexpected. It was just that I had been devoting a lot of time to develop alternative, and to me, more acceptable theories about ageing and poor exercise habits accompanied by a slow burning and growing disbelief in physical immortality. So I spurned the pavement and took to running on grass and increasing time on the bicycle. Now I was in a position where I could put off doing anything consequential and just wait it out to the next knee crisis and forecast arthroscopy – at least.
But this wasn’t the only piece of physical unfairness cast on me by life. My back! Years of flying military aircraft and being strapped into ejection seats had promoted upper body strength but left the lower torso in a state of confusion. Do I just sit – or do I twist and stretch like the top bit? It asked itself this question many times whilst experiencing “g” loads and high speed manoeuvres without reaching an answer? Accordingly, every year in my 40’s the lower back would cease questioning and seize itself into rigidity, award itself a holiday and leave the rest of me to enjoy two or three days catching up on missed movies and books from the couch.
IT first started with my singing teacher at the newly installed Canberra School of Music in Civic in the mid 70’s. David Parker was a barrel-chested, Welsh operatic tenor with an overwhelming life ebullience and volume that opened eyes and dropped jaws. Being taught by him was less a genteel conversation on technique and style and more a rolling maul on a muddy rugby pitch. But it was fun, highly engaging (i.e. no escape) and inspirational beyond mere singing.
Part of his approach was to develop the breath through lying on the carpeted floor of the adjacent darkened lecture room and follow his instruction for what I now recognise as pranayama. “I learned this from my good friend Yehudi Menuhin you know” he would lilt at us. “And he said this was the best thing he did since picking up a violin which was so long ago he can’t remember – ho ho ho”. Much chuckling and reminiscing by David in the background as we tried to keep ourselves on the correct side of the sleep reflex. Nice, new carpet often winning!
IT next started with an introduction to Yoga Mandir, the white shed next to the Auto Electricians. The introduction was made by a friend who raved about many things but especially the benefits of “doing yoga”. This I did sporting some judo pants and feeling a little uneasy about being sardined into only half the shed and onto a neat row of near joining mats filled mainly by the young and predominantly female: My first journey into diminishing the ego. The gymnastics were different, felt a bit trendy, and didn’t cause any physical issues except when it came to bending forward. Legs were good and tight but with all that running and cycling it was expected. But the back! My back released stories of Tolstoysian dimensions every time my eyes greedily surveyed toes, knees or the floor in standing and seated forward bends.
Over time the novels became short stories. But things significantly changed for me after a chance remark by Polly Realf following a class she had just taught. With characteristically raised eyebrow she asked me “have you done this before?” I felt embarrassed, as I couldn’t really answer. On one level it was “no”. Never been to an asana class. But I had lain on a music lecture room floor as a young man and heard a Welsh accented voice link me to something that extended beyond mere breathing and developing my baritone top “G”. Perhaps I had “done this before”.
IT finally started from that point with a more conscious dedication to practice. The benefit, as eloquently described by one of my own students recently (thank you Louise!) was not so much a road unfurling ahead but an expansion of awareness and opportunity all around me.
So for me my journey into yoga has not been just the welcome lengthening of legs and liberation from back issues. With Alan’s sage guidance it has become an ever expanding awareness of body, mind and spirit with no destination but the expansion itself.
I’m sure the Admiral Surgeon would be pleased to hear that his prophecies have been inaccurate. Or perhaps I should be more humble and thank him, and my knee, for catalysing me into taking action. The action of adopting a path first identified to me by a larger than life singing teacher at a time when backs and knees were there for the taking!