I am not a very good yogi. Much as I love the way that yoga – when I get round to doing it – helps me to feel more supple and strong, I have to admit: the spiritual side of things leaves me a little cold. Although I do enjoy the resonance of a good group “om”, all other chanting brings on a serious attack of cynicism. And you know the meditation at the end of every type of yoga class, when you lie on the floor and focus on your breath? I love those quiet minutes. But I’m not focusing on my breath. I’m either daydreaming – or asleep.
So I’m not sure what to expect of Anusara, a relatively new yoga method. I’m attending an Anusara workshop called “The Secrets of Lotus Hips”, focusing on the knees, hips and pelvis. Anusara practitioners describe the style as “a life-affirming tantric philosophy of intrinsic goodness”. Developed in 1997 by an American yogi, John Friend, its name translates as “flowing with grace”, and “opening to grace” is its first principle. It’s enough to get my cynic’s hackles rising. But the form is fast gaining respect and was recommended by a friend who, while spiritually well-rounded, is also practical. She promised it would sort out my left knee, which has been conspiring with the muscles and tendons of my left leg to stop me snowboarding. Or indeed doing much of anything that doesn’t involve spending lots of money on physiotherapy.
I’m such a bad yogi, in fact, that I arrive late, stumbling in just as the others are finishing the introductory relaxation. Which means that the first bit of Anusara that I get to do is to “open to grace”. And to chant. Perfect. Kate, our teacher, looks round the room beatifically, then reaches for a sheaf of hand-outs. More chants? I hold my breath.
“First,” she says, “We’re going to find the psoas.”
I breathe again. The psoas, for those of you unacquainted with the joys of sports rehab, is a deep muscle that runs through the pelvis, attaching the spine to the femur. Tightness of the psoas is implicated in numerous back, hip, pelvic and knee problems, but, being a deep muscle, it’s not easy to manipulate. And certainly nobody has shown me how to find my own before.
We lie on our backs, knees bent, poking around our pelvises. Kate helps those, like me, who are confusedly jabbing at our hip flexors; we compare what we can feel to the anatomical diagrams on the hand-outs. We learn how a tilt of the pelvis can slacken or tighten, and how to create a relaxed space within the hips. This is the physical part of “opening to grace” – and it actually feels rather good.
Now we’re ready for the spirals. These are the biomechanical principles behind good posture and key to what sets Anusara apart. Standing, we’re shown how to push back the pelvis, open our hips and rotate the thighs inwards. This is the inner spiral. Next, we lengthen our backs and tilt the tailbone forward – the outer spiral. It feels counterintuitive at first, and yet, gradually, it starts to make sense.
We split into pairs. Intimidating, particularly since my partner is elegant, flexible and evidently a more dedicated yogi than I. But slowly, something clicks – or rather, doesn’t. My pelvic area feels – and there’s no other way to put this – wonderfully open, and I start to suspect that in years of other exercise, of yoga and Pilates and physio and gym work, all that sucking in of the abdomen and tightening of the glutes has been restricting my leg even further. Now, I can feel my muscles working – yet everything feels loose.
As we go through various poses, my limbs refuse to submit to certain positions, particularly those that entail sitting cross-legged. But Kate fetches blocks and blankets for support, suggests moderations, offers encouragement. It’s far removed from the yoga teacher who forced my knee into a pose and practically pinged it off, or the class where rubbery regulars considered themselves a notch above.
The workshop is three-and-a-half hours long, but time passes swiftly, with anatomy lessons in between the poses. Kate is one of a handful of qualified Anusara teachers in the UK – having originally taught the fast-paced Ashtanga style, she was drawn to Anusara after a bout of illness and injury. As it was for me, the desire for physical alignment was the spur. However, the deeper she got in her practice, the more she felt drawn to the philosophy. “Anusara doesn’t try to squash personality, but celebrate it – that’s the tantric approach.” That’s tantric as in the flow of essential, universal goodness, for those of you thinking along saucier lines; the root belief is the same, but this is a quieter kind of ecstasy.
For fellow participant Helen, bright and beaming and in her 50s, Anusara “helps to explain why I’ve found postures difficult in the past. It ends that sense of frustration – because there is a logical, physical explanation”. And the philosophy? Adele, a young investment banker, makes me feel that my cynicism is perhaps just short-sightedness. “Whenever I come to class, I decide on a specific goal,” she says. “I put aside whatever has been bothering me that week – at work, or whatever – and I focus on achieving that goal.” She shrugs. “That’s how I interpret opening to grace, anyway.”
Her words stay with me as, walking downstairs after class, I notice, after only a few steps, that my hips feel spacious, my usually rigid tendons soft, my knee almost springy. I think about them as I use the spirals to adjust my posture at my desk, and the pain in my hip flexors goes away. And I think about them at midnight, going through some postures before bed even though I’m knackered, because I feel so much better.
I’m still a poor excuse for a yogi, and I doubt I’ll ever chant with enthusiasm. But opening to grace? I may yet be able to handle it.
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The details
The next Secrets of Lotus Hips workshop is at Yoga Place, 449-453 Bethnal Green Road, London, E2 9QH, 020 7739 5195 (www.yogaplace.co.uk) on July 11, from 2pm to 5.30pm; cost £30 (£25 concessions).
Anusara classes are held on Wednesday and Friday nights
