Wheel.

This is wheel. Or a photo of one person in wheel pose. And an article (which I haven't read) about how to prepare for/improve your practice of this pose. I chose this link because it shows a woman in the pose.

Two weeks ago in the Saturday yoga class I go to, I did this. For the first time ever. That's right--I've been doing yoga for almost three years and I've never actually moved into wheel until two weeks ago. I'm sure I didn't quite look like the woman in the photo, but this is my story.

After doing a preparatory pose, we were lying on our backs with our knees bent. Steffanie, our teacher, told us to place our hands next to our heads and push up into wheel pose.

Here's what I did. I instinctively brought my heels closer to my butt. I put my hands next to my head with my fingertips very close to my shoulders. Then I pushed upward with my feet and my hands, lifting my body off the mat.

Every other time I've tried this, I can get to this point no problem. Of course. In the process of pushing upward, my head slides on the mat a bit before leaving it. This sliding, which sometimes involves my hair pulling between my head and the rubber mat, is unpleasant for me.

And I never pushed past it before. Because it happened at the same time that the pushing upward got a little bit challenging, I stopped pushing and I let myself come back down.

But not that day. Somehow my hair didn't pull. I still hit that point where I wasn't sure I could do this. The fear point. And I just wasn't sure. But I pushed up anyway.

What happened is I did it. I pushed up and my head cleared the ground. I pushed more and felt my back arching strongly. Intensely. But I found I could push further. I had more to give. I pushed more and found that my arms were mostly straight.

I held it there, just feeling what it was like to be there in a pose I've never actually done before. It was like I could feel the air around me letting me know I was in a strange position.

And it is a strange position. Really, when I look at images of people in this pose, I get a little weirded out. It's just so odd-looking. And it feels like it when you're doing it.

After a few seconds, something in my body and mind said it was time to come down. I had another moment of fear. Can I get down from this without hurting myself? A voice in me said, of course you can. So I slowly lowered myself, going back the way I came as my arms bent and my back released its arch.

Back on the ground, the rush of realization came over me: I did it. That rush of realization was almost as good a feeling as the feeling of being up there in my wheel.

Just almost.

And that's why I'm writing this post, I think. Sure, it's about pushing past the fear point and letting yourself be strong enough. It's about how good it feels to finally do something you didn't think you could. Mostly, though, it's about how good that pose felt right then.

So, yeah, the rush of realization. After I came down, I looked around. I looked to see if my teachers had seen my wheel. She hadn't. And he hadn't. I was disappointed that they hadn't seen it, but only a little.

I spoke to Jeremy about it after class. Somehow I couldn't put into words how it felt, so I tried to picture myself in the pose. I couldn't because I hadn't seen it. It's the nature of wheel--you can't see your own body when you're in that position. So I tried to see what I had seen--remember where my eyes had been looking. I couldn't see it. I could only remember the feeling.

It was a feeling I wanted again.


I mentioned teachers above. Plural. Of course there is my dear Steffanie. My other yoga teacher doesn't teach classes. He's nowhere near as experienced as Steffanie, but his yoga expertise is extensive and sometimes intimidating. Mostly as a teacher he is inspiring and helpful, a yoga force in my life. I've seen Steffanie in wheel pose many times, but I've seen him in it more.

Here's why I mention him: I was watching him the first time he tried wheel. He did not appear to have a fear point.

I don't always have a fear point. But when I do, it's often because I think my ability to do a thing or not do it MEANS something about me beyond the plain fact that I can or cannot. And it doesn't just mean "I have the requisite strength or flexibility." Somehow I can catch myself attaching value to this sort of thing. Goodness, rightness. Virtue. Or, more likely, badness, wrongness, failure-ness.

But today I know--and I write it to capture and cement it--that yes, there is value is pushing past the fear point. I keep needing to teach myself to do that. When it becomes instinctive to do it then maybe it will look to others like I don't have a fear point at all. I'll work toward that. But beyond that virtue in the process, there is no goodness or rightness in being able to put my body into that position. Further, there is no badness or wrongness if I can't do it yet or ever.

Ok?

I'll say again: knowing that I can do it does not feel as good as actually doing it. Here we rejoice. This is really something. Being there with my back more arched than I thought it could be, my arms straight and pushing, my head hanging free, my awareness shifting from myself to the odd space around me. These--and all that I can't put into words--are my rewards. Not some vague notion that I'm good when hit the mat afterward.


There's more. There's so much more.
What I've learned from having now done wheel at home with no one watching. But I won't go into that.

I will just keep doing it, whether anyone's watching or not.