Monday 25th January 2010
Gestation: 17 weeks, 3 days
One year ago.
The squelching has settled. In fact, everything has settled. Suse’s shoulder is like brand new. It’s the rejuvenation we were dreaming about.
Nothing quite like steroids to brighten up your day.
And since then, she’s done yoga every day.
Suse is far more aware of her body than I am. More emotionally aware. More in tune with its rhythms. More yin. Yoga for her is like running is for me; meditative and centring. It’s pleasure to watch. So much so, that I do just that. I join her yoga session. She silently instructs, while I gruntingly follow. She is a kind teacher, a really natural instructor. And I’m not.
I’m the perfect yang for her yin.
She begins slowly, kindly. And as she does, I am taken back to when I first met Suse. At a course in Brisbane. She caught my eye the first day I saw her. She sat opposite me at lunch. We talked. And I remember being struck by her aura. Her confidence. Her assurance.
Later that day, she volunteered to take yoga sessions for anyone who was interested.
At dawn each morning.
Until this point, I’d never felt a need to try yoga. But for some reason, in this setting, the urge was almost overwhelming. Magnetic.
It’s hard to explain.
So each morning, I would rise at dawn to do yoga.
Again, oddly enough, so did a record number of other uncoordinated men.
And yet, I prevailed. I became her most avid groupie. For an entire year, I never missed a session. Hanging on her every graceful pose, watching in fascination at her smooth, lithe movements, I would scramble to reach with a quarter of the dexterity, a fraction of the suppleness, ignoring the numbness in my toes as I copied her in downward dog.
I remember watching in awe – dumbstruck awe – as Suse calmly guided the group through each session. She did it with such effortlessness. It left me feeling energised, but probably mainly because when it was over, as I regained feeling in my legs, I would approach her. And I would thank her with a hug, one that lingered almost too long, for such a wonderful experience.
That left me energised.
And that woman is now my wife.
* * * * *
We finish, a one-on-one master class with my yoga mentor. As we do, I hold her tightly, just like I used to. But this time, there aren’t seven other men lining up for the same thing. This time, I don’t have to hide my feelings. This time, I can hold her close, cradling my wife into me.
As I do, she relents. I feel her body fold into mine. In the last half hour, I’ve witnessed her back in her power, back in her presence. It’s something I’ve missed witnessing. Something we’ve both missed.
It is a purity from a time earlier; a focus on what we have, rather than what we don’t.
My wife is back in focus.
As she lets go, I feel my back twinge.
And I remember that yoga is for me, what running is for Suse.
A spectator sport.
* * * * *