As a kid, I had an overactive, very noisy mind. I didn’t understand it at the time or how to get quiet and the only thing that ever worked to stop the never ending stream of thoughts was dance. I first experienced a state of mental quiet and, unknowingly, mediation in motion through methodical movement. While I studied ballet for over 12 years and I wish I could say I carried that practice into my young adulthood, I did not. It wasn’t until many years later I fell in love with movement again via morning walks.
In the summer of 2007, I adopted my rescue dog, Charlie, and this was the beginning of my morning walk ritual. For years it was just him and I in the quiet of the morning and then our walks eventually included a baby in a stroller. Fast forward a few years and that baby would get dropped off at school and then I would load up the younger two babies and head out with our dog. These hours were precious to me because it was a time to nourish my soul while moving my body. I’d fire up a favorite inspirational podcast or audio book and roll through nature with my boys. It was about a year ago that this shifted when Charlie started to get sick. Over the course of a few months our hour long walk route dwindled to 45 minutes; to 20 minutes and down again until all he could handle was going around our block. During this season of learning how to say goodbye I experienced another pivotal loss; one that is still so raw and undefined for me it’s too emotionally charged to speak about in detail. Charlie stayed with me for six more months after this event; then he just couldn’t hang on anymore and it was time for our family to say goodbye to one of our greatest loves. The combination of this experience and the loss of my beloved dog broke open a well of emotions and sent me into a time of heavy grieving. In this time of darkness I did the only thing I know how to do when times get tough; I went to yoga class.
It was two days after Charlie passed that I made myself go to a studio class and I purposefully chose one that would be loud, hot and sweaty. I needed to focus all my energy on the movement and push myself to prove that as broken as I felt the heaviness in my heart would not break me. I pushed myself to my edge that day, maybe even a little past, and when I collapsed in savasana I wept as quietly as I could and let my tears stream down my face along with my sweat.
I’ve heard that the cure for anything is salt water; sweat, tears or the sea and I’ve tried various combinations of all three as I move towards my own healing. Shortly after saying goodbye to Charlie, our family took a beach vacation. There were many days I was up with the sun or awake with the moon watching the tide rolling in and out as I simply sobbed over his loss and all the constants in my life that had changed in the last 12 months. Each day when we walked down to our chairs there would be phantom paw prints in the sand and I couldn’t help but think it was Charlie sending me a sign.
In the days and weeks since there are times my mat is too quiet of a space for my grief and I’ve turned towards cycling. I’ve had many a ride where I hustled until I was breathless and my sorrow ran in rivers of sweat down my body. I’ve cried a time or two. I know that a year from now things will hurt a little less but the only way to get over something is to go through it. One breathe, one pedal stroke at a time, putting one foot in front of the other until I’m on the other side.