I began working on my flexibility when I was only a year old--I did the splits across the Atlantic Ocean. With one foot in Bulgaria and one in America, I had to learn to hold my stretch for months at a time. Soon after I was carried, swaddled, and sung to on the flight into the United States, I learned to walk and speak English. I have PBS Kids and Looney Tunes mostly to thank for this, though I admit American public education could possibly have had some part in my fluency. It wasn’t long before I began writing semi-comprehensibly and nagging my parents in not one but two languages. Quickly becoming an adamant advocate for Skype, I connected with my family virtually and depended heavily on the strength of my house’s wifi. I held my grandmother’s
…show more content…
In the summer of 2012, I couldn’t touch my toes. I wasn’t even close. I viewed physical activity as a chore and a nuisance I had to endure. When attempting any more than two flights of stairs, my breathing would sound like Darth Vader’s. I decided at once to test my limits and change my perspective toward exercise. Yoga was a newfound method of stress relief, a foolproof motivation booster. Whenever my day had been particularly droopy or whenever my energy was limp like wilted lettuce, I found my fingers yearning and reaching for my toes. I would close my eyes and breathe...breathe...breathe. With each inhale, I was engulfed in relief and with each exhale, my day would melt around me. Walls, doorframes, kitchen counters, dewy grass, grainy concrete--any and every surface became my yoga mat. I began to gravitate toward towering stairs instead of dreading them. Mountain biking in Utah, running five miles a day in Michigan, skiing black diamond slopes in Colorado--I fell in love with my strength and mindfulness. I wanted to amputate every uncertainty and weakness I had. Exercise became an endorphin releasing, euphoric experience. My energy was a bright abyss. I started waking up earlier than I ever had before. I vinyasa’d my way from class to rehearsal to
In the summer of 2012, I couldn’t touch my toes. I wasn’t even close. I viewed physical activity as a chore and a nuisance I had to endure. When attempting any more than two flights of stairs, my breathing would sound like Darth Vader’s. I decided at once to test my limits and change my perspective toward exercise. Yoga was a newfound method of stress relief, a foolproof motivation booster. Whenever my day had been particularly droopy or whenever my energy was limp like wilted lettuce, I found my fingers yearning and reaching for my toes. I would close my eyes and breathe...breathe...breathe. With each inhale, I was engulfed in relief and with each exhale, my day would melt around me. Walls, doorframes, kitchen counters, dewy grass, grainy concrete--any and every surface became my yoga mat. I began to gravitate toward towering stairs instead of dreading them. Mountain biking in Utah, running five miles a day in Michigan, skiing black diamond slopes in Colorado--I fell in love with my strength and mindfulness. I wanted to amputate every uncertainty and weakness I had. Exercise became an endorphin releasing, euphoric experience. My energy was a bright abyss. I started waking up earlier than I ever had before. I vinyasa’d my way from class to rehearsal to