A shower, my thighs and Ahimsa #365Yoga

A guy rocking Scorpion Pose (Photo credit: FabulousTerrah)

Yesterday, after I finished Insanity Cardio Recovery (a.k.a. the "slow, painful death of my thighs" workout), I was thinking about whether or not a painful workout went against the "nonharming" principle of yoga. I was standing in the shower at the time, and I was also wondering how a non-cardio workout could have made me sweat so much, so don't expect anything too deep and philosophical here.

Ahimsa, usually translated as nonharming or nonviolence, is the first of the Yamas in Patanjali's Yoga Sutras. The Yamas teach us how to control our personal conduct when dealing with others. In its simplest terms, the principle of Ahimsa asks us to not hurt anyone. But, if it's part of the code of ethics for dealing with others, does it allow us to hurt ourselves?

I've heard yoga teachers point out Ahimsa as the reason we shouldn't push too hard during an asana practice. "Show compassion for yourself!" "There's no pain in yoga!" "Stay within your edge!" I've said these things myself. They are yoga teacher language for "Please don't get hurt in my class." I have to wonder, however, how the guy rocking Vrischikasana never pushed past his edge while learning how to get there. And if he was sore for awhile, like I was when I was regularly working on scorpion pose, did he feel un-yogi-like because he wasn't gentle with his body?

My thighs disagree, but I think using Ahimsa as an excuse not to take reasonable risks with my body takes something away from the Yamas, which are supposed to remind me that it's not, in fact, all about me. The violence we're supposed to be avoiding isn't muscle aches from a good workout, it's the harm we do when we think we're separate from everyone else. It's the pain that we cause whenever we allow differences in race, gender, nationality, religion, living conditions, etc., to create an "otherness" in our thinking. It's the rips in the web of existence that we create every time we come from a place of fear rather than openness.

I'm not advocating recklessness in yoga classes or home practices. We should always practice safely and with intention and awareness, to avoid injuries. I just think we do a disservice to Patanjali when we claim Ahimsa while we're dropping into child's pose but forget to talk about the much deeper commitment nonviolence requires when we step off our mats. After all, Patanjali probably never saw a forearm balance. I know he never checked out Insanity.

Yes, there are awesome yoga teachers out there digging into the Yamas in their classes, but they weren't in the shower with me. It was just me and my thighs, and, Ahimsa or not, we've got another workout tomorrow.

The Bloody Heels of Non-Violence

Image via Wikipedia

Today I spent 15 minutes sitting in a tub full of cold water watching dried blood flake off my heel and thinking about ahimsa. No, this is not a obscure yogic ritual. The cold water soak was keeping my feet and ankles from swelling after an 8 mile run on a warm afternoon. The blood was from a blister that gave up around mile 5 and failed to prevent the skin from being rubbed off my heel as blisters are supposed to do. And thinking about yoga's concept of non-violence? Maybe that's just where this yogini's mind goes after a fair amount of blood loss.

Ahimsa is a Sanskrit term from ancient yoga texts which translates as "non-harming" or "non-violence". How broadly the concept should be applied has been, and continues to be, a hotly debated topic among yogis. Some take it to mean that we should not harm any living thing and turn to vegetarian or vegan diets and animal rights activism. For others, it is enough to work on not harming ourselves when we practice yoga, being compassionate and caring about our own bodies in the asanas.

So why was I mulling over the idea of ahimsa while I sat in the cold tub?

The endurance athletes I know (distance runners and triathletes, mostly) tend to take pride in pain and injury. Not that we set out to injure ourselves, but if you follow any of our blogs you are likely to see pictures of road rash, lost toenails, blisters, knee surgery scars, etc. We wear scabs and bruises like badges of honor. They are a sign to our fellows that, in pushing our bodies to their limits, we faced adversity and we were tough enough to walk, or limp, away from it, ready to battle our limits another day.

If I'm beating myself to a pulp on a regular basis, am I violated the principle of ahimsa? Can I be a card-carrying, Yoga Sutra-reading yogini and run until my feet are bleeding? Isn't that harming myself? This is what I was contemplating in the cold tub.

Truth be told, I didn't come up with an answer during my icy soak. Nor have I found the answer since drying off, wrapping my heel in gauze and eating the entire contents of our refrigerator (running makes me hungry). All I know is that, despite the sore muscles and raw skin, running makes me feel good. The ultimate result is that my body gets stronger, my blood pressure gets lower and I have a great sense of accomplishment when, like today, I run further than I have before. Perhaps the means justify a non-harming end?

I'm sure I'll be mulling it over more, right after I contemplate how to get the blood stains out of my sneakers.