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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
Comment
Emma Beddington

I was way out of my depth at the yoga workshop – but at least I wasn’t bleeding like my neighbour

A close up of a young woman with a black crop top and tattooed shoulder doing a yoga forearm stand.
‘The full pose felt as achievable as unassisted flight.’ Photograph: fizkes/Getty Images

Why on earth did I read about a five-week yoga forearm-stand workshop and think: “That sounds like a fun challenge – I should sign up”?

I’m nearly 50 and I sit down for my job and as my main hobby, so I don’t know what hubristic derangement possessed me. “Never book yoga when you’re feeling energetic,” a friend counselled, too late. “It’s like going to the supermarket hungry.” I blame TikTok: I got cocky when I managed the “shrimp stand-up” I saw there (you hold on to one foot as you stand from kneeling, using the other leg) and concluded I was ready for more physical feats. Was it a mini-midlife crisis? An out-of-body experience?

I have certainly wished I were out of my body multiple times over the past five weeks. The workshop was kindly, safely run and everyone was lovely, but it was objectively hardcore – one woman bled from the elbows – and I was way out of my depth. Preparatory exercises left me flailing weakly like a sheep with its head stuck in a gate, and the full pose (a handstand, but on your forearms – I know!) felt as achievable as unassisted flight. I couldn’t even assist the stronger, bendier other attendees correctly: I kept facing the wrong way, holding the wrong bits.

My attitude was even worse than my shoulder strength. I hate being bad at stuff and week one sent me into a deep, infantile sulk. I skipped week two, started week three with (it transpired, justified) foreboding and ended in tears of frustration. Week four was spent exuding winning negativity, complaining I couldn’t do it. “Emma, you’re giving me that look again,” the teacher said. And I was.

I bullied myself into attending the final session cheerfully, reasoning that seeing it through to the bitter end would be an achievement of sorts. Then, guess what? No, obviously I didn’t master the forearm stand; I still look like a sheep in a gate. But a sheep that might, with time and practice, get there. It feels like I’ve learned something about showing up with humility, which is arguably better than any asana.

  • Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist

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