The Finish Line

In every yoga class I take, I know I’m coming into the home stretch when the standing poses are done. Once I’ve wobbled in Tree or flapped around like a wounded bird during Eagle, I can breathe a sigh of relief knowing that I’ve survived the hardest part of the hour and can spend the rest of it on my belly or back or even upside down in a Shoulder Stand. But no matter how many yoga classes I take, I can’t seem to lose my fear of the balancing poses and spend the first half of the class anticipating them, dreading them, convincing myself I’ll fail in front of everyone. I’m so obsessed with the challenge to come that I can’t stay in the moment. This is an unfortunate trait that afflicts any difficult endeavor I undertake. It applies equally to sprints in spinning class and the long middle slog of writing a piece when it all sounds like gibberish. My mind anticipates obstacles ahead instead of concentrating on what I’m doing right now in order to build up for the steep hills to come—whether they’re jumps in spinning or transition paragraphs in an essay. I want the byline and the shower after the workout, not the sweat it takes to get there. It’s partly laziness, but mostly it’s the deep-down fear that I don’t have what it takes— I’m not strong enough, smart enough, disciplined enough to tough it out. I’m trying to correct that fault line so that the finish line is not my only goal. The only way I know to do that is one word at a time, one step at a time, one yoga pose at a time. And before I know it, it will be time for a shower.