Upside down joy

I’ve written before how I could swear my handstand trainer has a degree is psychology. He seems to know the right thing to say, how to motivate and encourage even while remaining super-strict about form and attention to detail. Now that I’m a bit wiser or more experienced with physical trainers (not just lofty yoga teachers with all their spiritual baggage) I see that this is part of the package with a trainer. Or with a good trainer, I guess — but those are the only kind I know!

They observe closely and have seen a million times the same behaviours and tendencies (or variations thereof). And they are fuelled by a desire for success for their clients. My trainer once told me that he’d achieved everything he wants to physically, and it really shows in how he teaches. He’s 100% focussed on supporting me in whatever way it takes; there is absolutely no ego about his own abilities, it’s all about what I need.

We laugh quite a lot as we come to observe my patterns. Physically my shoulders tend to close unless he’s there with a coaxing reminder. I’m too powerful with my kick-ups. I’m slow to engage the adductors… And I always freak out the first time we try a new drill, particularly if the result is me finding any real balance time or if he’s spotting me and there’s physical contact between us. I panic and exit before I need to. Now we know that, we simply repeat everything new twice. Once to get the panic out of the way, the second time with a demand for more focus and less emotion. Neat eh?

As we talk a little — him subtly giving me a rest break between drills — he tells me that he loves to see how excited I am by my training. We laugh how ‘excited’ sometimes manifests as ‘panic’, but it’s clear I’m learning to control my emotional responses and create a broader comfort zone. He, on the other hand, had all emotions trained out at a young age. As a child gymnast he was focussed on complicated, highly technical and potentially dangerous movements. He couldn’t afford to panic. So something as relatively simple as a handstand doesn’t ruffle him at all. There is no joy, there is no emotional reaction at all. It’s just something he can do.

I found that a little sad. He looked a little sad as he talked about it.

For me it was one of the those lessons about not comparing yourself to others and not assuming what might be going on for them. I am inclined to look at his physical proficiency with awe and even some envy and the thought that I would love to be able to do even a fraction of what he can. How would it feel to be that strong, to have such technical skills, and to make it all look effortless? Surely it would be a-ma-zing!!

Now I wonder perhaps if he looks at me and envies my easy joy and exhilaration at each small accomplishment, the fact that I am excited by every aspect of my physical journey, and that each time I can run, train handstands or lifts weights feels like a gift that makes me smile (even if I’m grimacing with effort, there’s a smile still on the inside!).

I would still like to be better at my handstanding than I am, but I think I’d rather have a longer but fun-filled journey to get there than wish myself a quick accomplishment that I could take no real delight in.

Perhaps next time my trainer checks in with me about my handstanding goals to ensure we’re staying on track, I will have to add ‘sustained enjoyment’ into the mix! I hadn’t realised what a precious aspect that is!