B io ph ile Issu e 18 - Biophile Magazine

Confessionsof aConvertedCarrot CruncherYes, I know what you’re thinking and I agree.How utterly predictable.How alarmingly stereotypical.What other exercise would acarrot cruncher adopt?Eight weeks into my vegan way of lifeand I find myself addicted to a newform of exercise – well, new to me. Yoga.Yes, I know what you’re thinking andI agree. How utterly predictable. Howalarmingly stereotypical. What otherexercise would a carrot cruncher adopt? Imean, how many vegan kick boxers do youknow? Or vegan rally drivers? But veganYogis? They must be as numerous as lentilsat a Sherpa shindig.Now I must tell you that I’ve been apassionate disciple of every exercise fadto have cursed the planet during the past30 years. My arms have thwapped mythighs every morning on the Army andNavy Routine; I’ve ‘gone for the burn’ withJane Fonda and spinned (or should that bespun?) till my knees begged for mercy. I’vetap danced with Delia Sainsbury (rememberher?) and power walked the suburbs ofJozi. But if my exercise of choice couldn’tbe done to loud, fast music - preferably TheVillage People - I wasn’t interested. (Oh,shut up would you – they weren’t considerednaff then!)But, nowadays, here I am, attendinga regular Bikram Yoga class and movingwith chameleon-like slowness in completesilence. The room is heated to a temperaturewhich Laurence of Arabia would findinsufferable, I’m sweating like a minerdown a shaft, contorting my steel-bandsinews into configurations which defy descriptionand gravity – and I’m LOVING it!What The Hell Is Happening Here? Andwhat’s next for Krishna’s sake? Ankle bellsand Hessian draw-string knickers?The point is that I didn’t gravitatetowards yoga because of its philosophicalsymbiosis with veganism. In truth, I hadn’ta clue (then) that most forms of the disciplineemphasize one’s interconnectednesswith all living things.Key to yoga is the issue of non-violence– to self, to other sentient beings and to theplanet. Not only was I in ignorance of thesefacts when I signed up but, as many willtell you, I have always relished the chanceto commit verbal violence against the oddtraffic cop or call-centre automaton.I joined my yoga class because at the ageof 47, I have finally realized that my Granwas right all along: you’re only as young asyour spine. (And to think I’ve been tryingall these years to test the other version ofthat truism: you’re only as young as theman you feel!)Despite the fact that I have always keptmyself fit, my flexibility has gradually decreasedand I now realize that if I want toride a motorbike in my eighties, I’d betterstart loosening up.Now I am about as supple as a baobab,so while the rest of the Bikram class isstill and balanced, I’m flailing around inthe corner like a flamingo on a bad trip.Ah well, at least I can make them all feelOlympian! But a strange thing happens,because while directing my attention tomy physical form and its shortcomings, asubtle change is occurring in my mindsetand conduct.And not only during the sessions either.I am definitely becoming calmer, more acceptingand (dare I say it?) more loving. Isthat because I’m no longer consuming thestress hormones of animals that have livedand died in agony?Or is it because yoga is inducing happyhormones into my mind and limbs?Either way, I sometimes catch myselfthese days behaving like some wafty waiffrom an ashram, with a beatific smile onmy face and the knowing look of someonewho has glimpsed Nirvana.Can it be that one who’s spent her wholelife stinging like a bee is now going to floatlike a butterfly?Emails to patriciaglyn@wol.co.za –particularly if you haveinformation on vegan rallydrivers!60Biophile Issue 18