Opening my eyes after a 15-minute meditation, I felt a wave of serenity.
“Namaste,” the woman at the front of the room calmly said.
It was the 1960s, I was in my late 30s, and I’d been brought along to a yoga class by my girlfriends. They were keen to try the newest flavour of the month, hatha yoga, a fitness class that combined traditional yoga poses with breathing exercises.
“Let’s see what all the fuss is about,” I’d chuckled.
To my surprise, I quickly connected with the practice. It gave me a feeling of inner peace, and yoga became a part of my weekly schedule.
Over the coming years, I married and had two daughters, and continued to practice yoga.
But as I got older, I was less able to push my body. Getting down on the floor and balancing became increasingly difficult and, painfully, I let hatha yoga go.
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In time, my two daughters became busy with their own families and after my husband passed away in 2020, my world became smaller.
I still walked every day, but I’d lost the sense of community I had when attending yoga classes.
I feel invisible, I thought.
Then, in early 2022, a friend told me about a new type of yoga being taught at a community hall in Cronulla.
“It’s called chair yoga,” she said. “It’s designed for people with mobility issues.”
“This could be for me!” I said, excited to re-engage with my old passion.
At 91, I felt nervous I wouldn’t keep up, but the instructor, Ria, soon put me at ease.
“Try your best, but don’t force anything if it hurts,” she said.
There were 12 women in the class, and we were all sitting on chairs.
How’s this going to work? I wondered.
Gently, Ria guided us through a range of different poses including seated leg extensions, chair warrior poses, and even spinal twists.
I’m moving every part of my body and getting blood flowing to all my joints, I marvelled.
By the end of the class, I felt the soothing sensation I’d missed for many years.
I began attending chair yoga weekly and soon made friends with the other women.
Because I’d maintained fluidity from my years of practice, I soon earned the nickname, Flo.
“Go Flo!” they’d cheer, each week.
In fact, we became such good friends, we often went for coffee after class.
I feel visible again, I realised, happily.
Now, at 93, I may be sight and hearing impaired, but I am just as dedicated to my weekly practice.
Although I’m one of the oldest in the class, I don’t feel it. I still live independently, and I owe much of my mindfulness and mobility to yoga.
Also, seeing the ladies in my weekly class makes my days a lot brighter.
I encourage anyone feeling the effects of age to pick up a moderated fitness class like chair yoga. You have so much you could gain.
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