The Unlikely Bookworm

Yoga Teacher Training: In The Beginning

Power Living

It’s no secret that deciding to train as a yoga teacher had little to do with finding the path to enlightenment and everything to do with relocating to a city I had fallen in love with under the loosely disguised veil that I referred to as career development when pushed. Thus with something I can only now, with the benefit of hindsight, describe as colossal naivety, I booked myself onto a three month teacher training course with Power Living on Bondi Beach, complete with a week’s retreat in Bali, imagining twelve weeks of shavasana at sun-down and an album’s worth of sun-kissed photos as I downward-dogged my way to the 200 hour qualification.

Little did I know what was to lie ahead. Fate blessed me with the most debilitating kind of cold imagineable – the type that makes life little more than a miserable existence – just in time for the 7am start at the beginning of our four day, forty hour initiation. Text books were bought – two of which were the type I hadn’t come across since my science GCSE over a decade ago – introductions made; and then the lectures began.

To say the next ten hours were a struggle is something of an understatement; at the end of the day I observed with horror as my fellow yogis packed up their text books ready for a night of revision. It was all I could do to crawl the fifteen minute walk back to my apartment and into bed. By day two I was even worse; I arrived on time for our morning class but felt so near death’s door I burst into tears on arrival and sat out the class, before joining in for the lectures on anatomy.

Days three and four were thankfully better; while I was yet to recover from my cold I certainly didn’t feel as horrific as I had done, and there seemed to be a light – of sorts – at the end of the tunnel. By the end of day four, and the completion of forty of the most intense hours of my life, my brain was frazzled, my limbs aching; but my spirit was lifted.

Power Living

I walked home along Bondi Beach with my new friend – Ali from Arkansas – and looking across the beach in the dusk glow I knew that however hard the next three months are – and hard I don’t doubt they’ll be – right now, I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

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One Comment

  1. Posted 21st September 2015 at 9:18 pm | Permalink

    Oh, you poor love. John’s over his, I’m just starting mine, but at least we didn’t have to sit in classrooms and try and absorb new things while we felt so bad. Where are aunts with soothing mugs of Lemsip when you need them…? Your quilt is en route, according to Fastway Track & Trace, and I hope it’ll reach you soon, sounds like you could use a bit of quilty cuddle.

  • lucy Welcome! I’m Lucy, a long-standing bookworm with a passion for literature and all things bookish. As a former Londoner and current Sydney-sider, this blog will offer you a window into the life of an expat, along with weekly book reviews, travel features and blogging tips, all written lovingly from my bedroom in Bondi. Read More

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