As there was no 7 a.m. class yesterday (the downside of Easter weekend), I thought I’d get my yogini up early today to sing the praises of morning yoga. My yogini’s curent path has its origins in devotion to a beloved friend who died some years ago. They shared a flat for a while and, having met through yoga, agreed to get up before work for a short practice. In reality this meant the friend practically beating down my yogini’s door each morning and dragging her out of bed.
Obviously a practice in memorium had to include early classes. For the first year or so my yogini avoided this thought. Then for a year or so she managed to grit her teeth and get up once a week, as long as the mornings were light, but not in winter. And then a funny thing started to happen. Some dark mornings my yogini would find herself dressed and half way out the door with me before she was really aware of being awake. Soon she was waking up before the alarm and watching as half her brain thought, ‘yay, yoga morning!’ and practically leaping out of bed.
And now before work yoga is probably our favourite class. She’s full of energy and focus that hasn’t been diluted by a day at work. There’s something about putting one’s practice first literally that feels really appropriate and on the best day the calm and space continues to echo throughout the day. So to our teachers who’ve managed to consistently hold morning classes across the years for us to stumble bleary-eyed into, thank you, thank you, thank you.
custardmat 