I first met Himself on a bone-chillingly cold January night. I can remember exactly what I was wearing. I can remember what he was wearing as well. I can also remember that, after a series of disastrous dates and a realisation that there is more to a relationship than both parties thinking Led Zeppelin IV is the greatest album ever written, I had made a New Year’s resolution to swear off men for the forseeable. Maybe forever.
I hadn’t banked on Himself.
Now if you are thinking that our eyes met across a chilly January night and we lived happily ever after, I’m going to have to disappoint you. It didn’t happen like that at all.
We met through a mutual friend at a gig in an old punk bar in Kingston (I’ve always known the classiest places to hang out in). He accidentally hit me in the face whilst “dancing” and I ended up on a date with his flatmate. Not the most auspicious of starts eh?
But I had more important things on my mind. The timing of the entire event had been impractical to say the least as I was teaching my very first unmentored and unassisted yoga class the next day.
I had been teaching yoga for quite a while at this point. I’d initially trained to teach Astanga Vinyasa as an apprentice to another teacher and I had been assisting and teaching supervised classes for about a year. But this was my first on my own. To say I was terrified would be an understatement. As I went over my class plan for the bajillionth time I rued ever being talked into going out the previous night. I hadn’t had much sleep and was far from bright eyed and bushy tailed.
One thing about a lifetime of Chronic Fatigue is that you become a whizz with the blusher brush. By noon I was looking, if not feeling, perkier and I took a deep breath and a big glass of water and started the class.
It went brilliantly. I’ll never forget that first class. I don’t think any teacher forgets their first class. And I’ll tell you something, dear reader, it was the only class I ever taught where I didn’t get my rights and lefts muddled up once.
I’d like to say that pre-performance nerves go over time, but I’m not sure that’s true. I’m not a quivering wreck before every class I teach admittedly, but to this day I get butterflies in my tummy before every session. Far from inhibiting my performance I think it makes me a better teacher. By being so aware I immediately become more mindful, more present moment orientated and therefore more aware of my students.
As for the flatmate that didn’t work out. He didn’t even like Led Zeppelin. But Himself turned out to be a persistent bugger and here we are over four years later.
Although come to think of it, Himself doesn’t like Led Zeppelin much either!
What I didn’t realise back on that cold January evening was how incredibly interlinked my relationship with Himself would be with my career as a yoga teacher.
(tbc…. maybe!! 
)
