Out of Africa: Seven Days of Post-Training Decompression in New Zealand

For those of you not in the know, I recently completed three weeks of yoga teacher training led by Donna Farhi in Christchurch, New Zealand. It was as intense of any of the trainings I’ve done to date, but definitely the most fun. I’m going to make seven consecutive posts over the next week that record some of the things I was doing and thinking about in the days after the training. 

DAY 1    MONDAY     AFTER THE LOVING: RECOVERY

Moonrise Over Hernandez New Brighton (and a shout out to Ansel Adams).

Tonight’s moon is robust, as if it’s wearing an incandescent sweater that is one size too small, or like it’s trying too hard during a dress rehearsal for tomorrow’s full moon. As I write, my socked feet are stacked on the window seat in the living room of Cameron Tukapua’s beach house in New Brighton, New Zealand, where I’ve been encamped more or less for 24 hours. My computer is propped on my lap and I keep stomach-typing, which is slowing things down.

The day has been like this:

Wake sluggish and reluctant but manage to peel back my eyelids anyway. Lay in bed for several hours. Eventually, tentatively, reconnoiter a vertical position, which goes well, so – feeling like a ballsy agoraphobe – I toddle to the kitchen to organize coffee. Sit in bed with coffee. Bathroom. More coffee in bed. Stare unblinking at the wall. Bathroom. Nap. Undertake furtive trip to the kitchen for food that is eaten on the bed. More staring at the wall while a rivulet of drool threads its way across my cheek. Attempt to read a book but after five minutes of that feel exhausted and nap. (In truth, the bit about the drool is manufactured but it does nicely enhance my thesis, n’est ce pas?)

To risk massively overstating the obvious, all day I’ve had about as much focus as a fart in a windstorm. I’m searching for a word that succinctly captures my state of body and mind. The one that arrives is duh.

By early evening I pulled myself together enough to venture as far as this window at the front of the house that had, heretofore, seemed far too far to travel.

Ground zero for recovery.

Lovely Anne Gregory, a friend of Cameron’s, picked me up at my residence at the University of Canterbury yesterday and kindly drove me to New Brighton. My mission is to spend a week at the beach decompressing after three weeks of teacher training with Donna Farhi, two co-teachers, eight assistants, and fifty or so other yogis.

Our practice space.

It takes balls to practice yoga. (Sorry. Couldn't resist.)

Did someone say food?

I’ve been through other intensives and expected to feel tired given the schedule and the vast amounts of information, new people, and experiences to integrate. But – and this is atypical – I felt no desire to have the training end nor for the community that formed around it to fragment. There was an effortless, affirming, and compassionate dynamic in this group. I feel both awed and humbled to have been a part of it, and aware that I just experienced something exceptional.