My experience with yoga has always been a love-hate relationship. As a child, I absolutely hated it: having a Yogi for a mother was never easy. Every morning I would wake up to her chants at dawn– an internal alarm clock I’m still haunted with - and be fed strange Asian herbs any time food was required. Substituting ginger roots for chocolate bars was the nature of snack time and seaweed accompanied literally every meal. Daily contortions were expected – “caring for your body is caring for your soul” – and I still cannot hold the tree pose for more than 5 seconds. Needless to say, resistance was futile and I never took any of her teachings to my head or to my heart.
It was only after I got to Cambridge that I realised what a big, blundering stupid mistake that was.
Finally free from the 6 a.m. meditations, vegan cuisine and compulsory asana practices, I relished in gluttonous Sainsbury’s biscuits, tubs of Haagen-Dazs ice-cream, literally infinite amounts of Hobnobs and, last but not least, copious amounts of alcohol on a daily basis. Not that alcohol had been forbidden before – on the contrary, wodka is a moral obligation in Eastern Europe - but I was way too much of a light-weight to handle it regularly (still am). Now, with all these glorious fatty diabetes-inducing calories, my tolerance rocketed. I’d wake up feeling like the devil and treat myself to left-over pizzas and whatever else lurked in my fridge. Don’t forget that morning cigarette. God bless England.
It was only upon returning home for Christmas that I realised I had changed. Naturally, a change in habits will invariably change character traits, but it was more than that. Not only did I feel lethargic and completely exhausted, but I found it harder to get my strength back. Normally, a few days off would have led to a complete recovery from any form of depletion, but after two months of avoiding vegetables like the plague, it was almost impossible to escape from the psychological chaos I call the Post-Cambridge Condition (PCC). I felt frustrated, relatively upset and had massive mood swings. My loving mother noticed and, as usual, concluded that I was not eating well and did not have the right habits (the same diagnosis that accompanied every cold or broken arm). This time though, utterly defeated, I allowed her to show me where I was wrong.
And she did. I followed her morning routine and ate all of her cooking – something I always rebelled against as a child. Every last grain, every strange foreign vegetable and that absurd amount of seaweed went from plate to stomach with a nascent enthusiasm. Eventually, the unthinkable happened - I began to look forwards to meals. Asana practices became the highlight of my day. Energy seeped in as if spring had just sprung. It was a 180-shift in perspective, a complete rebirth.
Yoga has definitely enlightened me, but unfortunately Nirvana is nowhere near the horizon. If I have gained any wisdom, it’s that there is nothing, literally nothing, as rewarding as eating well. Good habits are the single key to wellbeing – Every walk to lectures will, for some inexplicable reason, feel exhilarating, even when you got a 2.2 on your last essay (yours truly, so far twice in a row this term). Forget the pills, ten minutes of meditation before bed will put you to sleep like a log. Forget the coffee, a few stretches in the morning will put a spring in your step better than any caffeine. Stay up all night and watch the sunrise – you won’t be tired if your life’s in balance.
I promise.
It was only after I got to Cambridge that I realised what a big, blundering stupid mistake that was.
Finally free from the 6 a.m. meditations, vegan cuisine and compulsory asana practices, I relished in gluttonous Sainsbury’s biscuits, tubs of Haagen-Dazs ice-cream, literally infinite amounts of Hobnobs and, last but not least, copious amounts of alcohol on a daily basis. Not that alcohol had been forbidden before – on the contrary, wodka is a moral obligation in Eastern Europe - but I was way too much of a light-weight to handle it regularly (still am). Now, with all these glorious fatty diabetes-inducing calories, my tolerance rocketed. I’d wake up feeling like the devil and treat myself to left-over pizzas and whatever else lurked in my fridge. Don’t forget that morning cigarette. God bless England.
It was only upon returning home for Christmas that I realised I had changed. Naturally, a change in habits will invariably change character traits, but it was more than that. Not only did I feel lethargic and completely exhausted, but I found it harder to get my strength back. Normally, a few days off would have led to a complete recovery from any form of depletion, but after two months of avoiding vegetables like the plague, it was almost impossible to escape from the psychological chaos I call the Post-Cambridge Condition (PCC). I felt frustrated, relatively upset and had massive mood swings. My loving mother noticed and, as usual, concluded that I was not eating well and did not have the right habits (the same diagnosis that accompanied every cold or broken arm). This time though, utterly defeated, I allowed her to show me where I was wrong.
And she did. I followed her morning routine and ate all of her cooking – something I always rebelled against as a child. Every last grain, every strange foreign vegetable and that absurd amount of seaweed went from plate to stomach with a nascent enthusiasm. Eventually, the unthinkable happened - I began to look forwards to meals. Asana practices became the highlight of my day. Energy seeped in as if spring had just sprung. It was a 180-shift in perspective, a complete rebirth.
Yoga has definitely enlightened me, but unfortunately Nirvana is nowhere near the horizon. If I have gained any wisdom, it’s that there is nothing, literally nothing, as rewarding as eating well. Good habits are the single key to wellbeing – Every walk to lectures will, for some inexplicable reason, feel exhilarating, even when you got a 2.2 on your last essay (yours truly, so far twice in a row this term). Forget the pills, ten minutes of meditation before bed will put you to sleep like a log. Forget the coffee, a few stretches in the morning will put a spring in your step better than any caffeine. Stay up all night and watch the sunrise – you won’t be tired if your life’s in balance.
I promise.