THE BODY KEEPS THE SCORE (3/3)

I have Chris and Gwyneth to my right, eyes closed in relaxation and to my left, Nick, completing the finishing series of backbends and inversions.

Seven years have passed since I attended my first regular yoga class with Peroxide Jane and in the meantime, I’ve been to India and trained as a yoga teacher. I’ve had quite a few more experiences of spontaneous release; little eruptions of joy and bliss, tears and releases into well-being. Thing is, I don’t know many other people who have, and am starting to wonder whether I’m a bit of an anomaly. A yoga freak.

Beyond a smile and a hello, I don’t know Nick well. He has an open and friendly way about him and although he has a graceful and athletic practice, he seems a humble, down-to-earth kind of guy. After future classes, Coldplay Chris will invite us blokes for a quick smoothie and Nick will pootle off with him whilst I curse at having to pass in order to cycle up Pentonville Rd and teach about the past continuous tense and countable and non-countable nouns. Grrrr!!

Nick is now preparing for Chakrasana, the wheel. A fierce backbend, sometimes called the inverted bow. It’s a pose you see children pop up into in playgrounds; lie on your back, place your hands flat behind your head, feet flat and hip distance apart and then spring up into the wheel.

All backbends are considered heart-opening poses but that might well just be so much yoga teacher schmaltz.

Nick’s been in the pose for about 10 seconds before he begins to cry gently, then sob, then bawl into the sweaty room crowded with 20+ yogis. One of Hamish’s assistants, a soft-limbed black woman with short dreads and a radiant face walks over to him and whispers something. He comes out of Chakrasana and, following her instructions, comes into child’s pose, a resting and restorative pose. The assistant continues to soothe Nick whose sobbing has ebbed to gentle crying. She strokes his back slowly. Her tone is measured and reassuring. Nick trusts her implicitly. We all do.

I am so touched by this twin display of vulnerability of care. Nick didn’t hold it in to save face like I did just a year previously. Even now, 17 years later, writing about it moves me. It reminds me of the power of yoga to touch and release our most deeply-held pain.

The other yogis in the room perhaps glance over at Nick before returning their drishti. Nick knows he’s in a safe space. There’s no drama, no gasping, no staring. Just a field of love.

And determination.

And, it turns out I’m not the only one to cry during yoga.