Friday morning. I open the car door, but when I slide into the driver’s seat, my back twinges with sharp pain.
In the past seven days, I swam five times. And played tennis twice. And gardened for hours: shoveling soil, mowing the lawn, and hauling wheelbarrows to the compost pile. Too much?
These activities were individually pleasurable, but cumulatively excruciating.
Meanwhile, I have a massive headache. Maybe it’s the humidity. Or maybe it’s because I bumped my head yesterday on a low door frame. In my defense, I was wearing “recovery sandals,” a.k.a. orthopedic flip-flops, which relieve back pain, but also boost my height by two inches, so that if I’m not moving mindfully, I’ll smack my skull.
These injuries are hardly serious. But I need to take them seriously. Otherwise I may not be able to swim a mile across the Hudson River in less than two months.
Now the pain sends a clear message: check yourself before you wreck yourself.
Or as the Bermuda boat captain recently warned: Know your limits.
I had plans to swim today. But rather than risk adding injury to injury, I cancel my lane reservation at the pool—and settle for the next best thing.
But first I have to get out of this chair.
I unroll the mat, switch on the tv, and dial up Yoga for Swimmers.
Adriene wears a black and white leotard, dark hair with ombre highlights pulled into a bun. She hugs Benji, her grey dog and silent partner. In her husky voice, she says today’s yoga practice is for both “avid and amateur” swimmers. She’s an amateur. Benji is avid.
Like tens of thousands of people, I discovered Adriene Mischler —the Reigning Queen of Pandemic Yoga—in 2020. In January 2021, I completed her annual 30-day online yoga challenge on Yoga With Adriene. It felt so good that I continued, and wound up practicing yoga with her videos every day for two years. My ardor has cooled slightly “post” pandemic; but I still practiced 15 times this month. And whenever I need to calm my mind and relax my body, she’s often the best medicine.
Now following her instructions, I start on all fours, a.k.a. tabletop position, then proceed to cat and cow poses, arching my back and stretching my neck.
I twist and contort my body, mirroring her poses.
Plank. Sphinx. Cricket.
Down dog. Chaturanga. Up dog.
Literally every pose stretches my sore back, but the movement feels soothing, not painful.
The mat—royal blue and rectangular—resembles a miniature pool.
In the climactic pose, I sit on my heels, toes flexed. I reach my right hand behind my back and up my spine. I reach my left hand to the ceiling, then bend the arm at the elbow and clasp hands. Prolonging the pose, my triceps tremble, as do the fascia in my flexed feet.
After 20 minutes of physical practice, Adriene closes with a metacognitive meditation:
“Appreciate your beautiful body,” she says. “And give thanks for this time that you’ve taken to counteract your other practices, whether it’s in the water or doing something else off the mat.”
A yoga practice—like a swim practice—is a way of being. It helps balance mind and body sustainably to avoid injury now, and be strong enough to lift groceries when you’re 90.
I switch off the tv and rise from the mat.
No pain.
Well, almost no pain.
In any case, the lesson is clear: swim practice, like any practice, needs balance.
“swim practice, like any practice, needs balance” seems to be something everyone overlooks in today’s hustle culture — Arnold became the best bodybuilder partly because he learned ballet to sharpen his poses, and focused on disciplined recovery.
Excellence seems to not only be what the best do in their productive time, but also what they do to subtly improve in their downtime