Well, I'm finally back at Bardies, on a gloriously sunny day, after a gruelling five day yoga retreat in the Haut Garonne. I ache in places I didn't know I had and, I can tell you, keeping my rear end and my excess kilos up in the air in 'down dog' position for minutes at a time was no mean feat for wimps like me. My arms and shoulders are still screaming for mercy and it's forty eight hours since I was last upside down! Despite my feeble attempts at going to the gym, by way of pre-preparation, I know for sure that I must focus on getting myself vaguely back in shape if I am going to enjoy my dotage without a zimmer frame.
'Hey, you hypocrite!' I hear you say, especially after my previous eulogy to the great Keith Floyd, and, of course, you are right. On the other hand, enjoying good food, good wine and living life to the full, and being vaguely fit, are not mutually exclusive. In fact, I am certain that they compliment each other. After all, you can justify wolfing down more calories if you've been for a good hike around the Bethmale Valley or, even better, skied the pistes of Guzet Neige. The hills around here are not part of the Tour de France for nothing, which I have to admit is just one of the reasons why I haven't got on my bike to date! Things are about to change, although I have no intention of getting too carried away with this fitness lark. 'Peu a peu'.
For me, though, yoga is the ultimate form of exercise. It ticks all the boxes. Many years ago I did Iyenegar yoga, which involved a lot of polystyrene blocks and a great deal of time spent upside down in headstands. I was certainly supple and the meditative aspects of the classes helped get my head into the right space for dealing with hyperactive toddlers. Peace, calm and 'me-time' were a life saver. I only gave it up because I pulled a ligament trying to be over ambitious with my stretching on a bitterly cold winter's morning [the downside of the classes was that they were held in a de-consecrated church with virtually no heating].
These last few magical days have been a revelation. This time, I did Ashtanga Yoga which, if I'd known how hard it was when I started last Friday morning, I might have dipped out of. No pain without gain, as they say. You don't get a tea break, that's for sure. In fact, you don't get any breaks at all between moves, because it works on a continuum of sequences which you are supposed to master through constant repetition. In the 'Eighties', when we all battled to look like Jane Fonda, the trend was for aerobic classes. I can tell you first hand that Ashtanga Yoga is about as aerobic as it gets, and I was hiding at the back of the group!
You start with a sequence of moves known as 'sun salutations'. On my first morning I was pathetic, but I forced myself to do them despite having a bad back. When I first watched Katie, our lovely teacher with a beautifully supple figure to die for, I immediately thought 'no way!' Not being one to give up on things easily, I dutifully attempted to copy her fluid movements. I may have looked like a beached whale desperately trying to manoeuvre itself back into the ocean but I am proud to say that I slowly got the hang of it. I even, perversely, started to enjoy it. The really incredible thing was that it gradually made my back feel better though, obviously, not my arms or shoulders because of my weight.
Sun salutations are the most perfect sequence of exercises for a bad back and I don't know why chiropractors don't insist on them [perhaps they would if they didn't think they might get sued by clients unable to extricate themselves from some of the positions, which I guess is understandable!]. The idea is to do them every morning and I am determined to try my very best to continue with them 'toute seule'. I must make a note to keep Charlie, our Jack Russell out of the way because he's bound to see it as a new game, with potentially disastrous consequences for my health.
As we progressed, we continued with more complex sequences, some with greater success on my part than others. The early evening classes were my favourite. They were the 'ying' to the 'yang', soft meditative stretches designed to work on soft connective tissue, rather than muscle groups. I could happily have taken extra classes like these and felt fantastic after each one. Whereas half way through the frenetic activity of the morning class I was thinking, more often than not, about what I was going to have for breakfast, after the afternoon session I just felt an amazing sense of well-being and always had a spring in my step. I loved it and can't recommend Ashtanga yoga enough.
The retreat was held in the fabulous chateau of close friends near Aspet, a beautiful quaint little town nestling below the mountains. I am told that it has become much beloved by the English of late, although our friends bought their house in 1990, when most English people back then decamped instead to the Dordogne. Thai Ping and Giovanni, who own the house, have converted the top floor of one of their barns into a huge yoga studio, complete with Moroccan awnings and stunning views from the wide open windows over their magnificently landscaped and planted garden. Below was the pool, surrounded by stunning cobalt walls inlaid with mosaic. The house, originally built in 1792 by an unfortunate aristocrat who lost his head in the frenzy of the revolution, is to die for, full of fabulous things sourced from their many trips to Asia, as well as a fine collection of period pieces.
Katie Heller, from 'Tri Yoga', ran the course brilliantly and Thai Ping and I did the food. We ate so much, three meals a day, but it was all good healthy stuff and we only had a glass of wine each on the first and last nights. Honest! The cooking was more knackering than the yoga, but I did enjoy it. Pete Heller, Katie's husband generously cooked a fantastic butternut squash risotto on Saturday night. On Sunday, we drove over the border to Bossost for an exquisite lunch at 'El Portalet'. If you haven't been there yet, it's the best kept secret in the region. The restaurant is not flash but the food has shades of Heston Blumental in its staggering combinations of flavours. Excellent, and all for a 'prix fixe' of 25 euros a head.
On the same trip, we also managed to bag some great ceps and girolles from a man by the side of the road for 12 euros a kilo [none here yet because of the lack of serious rainfall] and stock up on duty free booze for 'Noel' in the huge hypermarket, where people behave like savages in pursuit of their hauls. After a serious lunch and a mega shop, we were all lined up in the yoga studio in our 'trackie bottoms' again by 6 o'clock, ready to roll. Keen or what? I tell you, this yoga lark really gets to you. Let's just hope I can keep it up! Bend me, shake me, anyway you want me..........!
No comments:
Post a Comment