Turning the world upside-down with sirsasana: Ashtanga or Iyengar?

Anybody who has been to one of my classes, seen me at the beach, looked at my Facebook profile or indeed met me, will likely know that I REALLY like to stand on my head.

Why should we stand upon our think-boxes?

There are so many benefits of sirsasana (sirsa = head, asana = posture); google the word and a plethora of articles detailing the benefits will pop up. Most will list physical benefits such as increased core and shoulder strength, improved blood circulation, stimulation of the pineal gland, and alleviation of ailments such as constipation, low blood pressure, colds, anxiety symptoms, depression and frequent headaches. Some also mention increased sexual energy, which is likely linked to the stimulation of the pineal gland, and a handful make references to reported “yogasms” (yoga-induced orgasms) through sirsasana practice. If nothing else persuades you to turn your world upside-down, I hope that does.

Personally, I just love being upside-down. I find headstands energizing, exhilarating, and that they significantly reduce feelings of anxiety.

Conflicting headstand advice

If you try different types of yoga (or come from a different background such as gymnastics), you will likely encounter lots of conflicting advice on practicing headstand, and it can be pretty confusing. As a fairly competent head-stander, I was shocked and rather indignant to go to an Ashtanga teacher training school and find that I was doing it “wrong”.  I’ve since done some reading, lots of practice and a fair bit of upside-down thinking in order to summarize the differences between different styles, and to discern which pieces of advice we should take from the Ashtanga and Iyengar yoga systems.

Where is the weight?

Pattabhi Jois (founder of the Ashtanga system) says that the head should only lightly touch the floor, and that carrying the body weight in the head will impinge intellectual development.

Conversely, BKS Iyengar (founder of the Iyengar yoga system) says “the whole weight of the body alone should be borne on the head alone and not on the forearms or hands. The forearms and hands are to be used only for support to check any loss of balance.” (Light on Yoga p.149).

Iyengar's intellectual development does not appear to be impinged as he demonstrates that hands and forearms are not necessary for an impressive sirsasana

This is pretty contradictory advice, and this is just one example of where Ashtanga differs from Iyengar in the teaching of sirsasana. Personally, I believe that the headstand should ultimately be just that; the weight should be in the head. I can’t promise it won’t impinge your intellectual development, but it will definitely provide a better base for transitions between headstand variations.

If the weight is in the head, the arms are free to change positions, and we can go through the entire sirsasana cycle without exiting the posture until the end. So, ultimately, I’m with Iyengar.

For beginners, however, I think that placing the weight in the hands and forearms can reduce the discomfort in the head and cervical spine that many people report. The Ashtanga way, therefore, might be useful for beginners as they become accustomed to being upside-down. As disorientation wears off (and it does!) and balance becomes easier, weight can be transferred from the hands to the head. The Ashtanga way is also useful if you want to transition from a headstand to a forearm stand without bringing the feet back to the floor. That is probably the only thing I’ve really taken from my Ashtanga-style sirsasana practice.

In summary, ultimately aim for weight in the head, but make use of the hands and forearms as you build up to this. Ashtanga weight placement is good for beginners, but Iyengar’s is the one to strive for.

How to enter the headstand

Ashtanga teachers will encourage beginners to enter the headstand with both legs together. If this works for you, great. Carry on. If it doesn’t, try another way.

Iyengar suggests that all beginners use the support of a friend or wall. Both can be very supportive, especially that sturdy wall with its tacit approval. Nobody likes a suck-up.

If you don’t want to rely on a wall or indeed a friend, I recommend entering the headstand one leg at a time. Walk the feet towards the head, and lift one leg as high as possible. Rock the weight into the head and gradually allow momentum to take the other leg off the floor. It might not happen first time, but this preparatory position will allow you to get used to the sensation of being inverted, of placing the weight in the head (and/or hands and forearms), and of engaging the core as you attempt bring the legs upwards.

Brad hits tripod headstand at the first time of trying using the single leg method

If your core strength is good, I also suggest trying to enter headstand from straddle. I find this the easiest way to enter headstand, and whilst I can’t speak for total beginners, I imagine it would be a nice intermediary stage between bent legs or single leg entrances and entrances from pike position.

Entering from straddle uses less momentum and therefore more core strength; its a graceful and versatile entrance to the asana. Wear a proper top, though...

In summary, try both the Ashtanga and Iyengar ways of entering headstand, and if neither feels right, try my way. It isn’t how I learned, but it’s the method I’ve had most success in teaching. If you are comfortable entering headstand with bent legs or one leg at a time but can’t yet manage to enter from pike (both legs rising together and remaining straight), try from straddle. 

Which variation is easiest?

Again, Ashtanga is prescriptive in that it suggest beginning with salamaba sirsasana (supported headstand) in which the hands clasp the back of the head. I was told that tripod “doesn’t really do anything” when I entered headstand in India. I disagree. I learned to stand on my head in tripod, and became so comfortable with it that I developed the strength and confidence to swap every other hand placement from there without exiting the posture. Whilst I am capable of entering headstand from each recognized arm position, it’s much more fun to flow through positions without exiting the postures each time.

Yoga is very personal; what some people find easy, others don’t. It is ludicrous to suggest that yoga follow a set progression of postures becoming more and more advanced. I can happily hang out in any variation of headstand all day, popping up to forearms and handstand variations as I please. But can I squat all the way down with my heels on the floor? Absolutely not. I love pigeon more than the old bird woman of the steps of St Paul’s in Mary Poppins, but can I even come close to supta kurmasana? Nope. We all have different skeletal structures, strengths, weaknesses, and preferences.

Katy opts for a supported headstand preparation with weight in the forearms rather than tripod

So my advice would be to place the head on the floor and place the arms in WHICHEVER POSITION YOU FIND MOST COMFORTABLE. That’s right; if forearms down feels too weird, just place the hands on the floor. If bound arms (hands holding opposite elbows on the forehead side of the head) feels right, do that. If you are able to take the weight in the head, play around with that.

In summary, do whatever you want. Play about with headstand. Become comfortable and confident in the posture. Indulge in the joys of being upside-down. Once you find your favourite variation, you can begin to try others from that base. Your base might be different to somebody else’s, and that’s ok.

And so, my fellow yogis, go forth and stand upon your heads. Engage your cores, stimulate your pineal glands, and, if you're lucky, have super intense orgasms. 

Namaste :)

Emma

xxx

OCD is not an adjective

My last blog-post centered around the arbitrariness of numbers and how statistics can mislead. I don't hate numbers or counting, though. Numeracy development is part of my job, and Rachel Riley is one of my idols. I don't infer too much from statistics, but I enjoy collecting them. I memorize dates for no discernible reason. I also don't stop counting. Ever. I am a compulsive counter, and this is not uncommon amongst people with obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD).

I have only recently realized how many areas of my life are affected by OCD. Whilst I've been aware of it for a long time, I didn't realize just how much of my behaviour was influenced by it. I recognized my obsessions, compulsions and their triggers, but not the other anxiety-driven behaviours I exhibited which are typical of OCD. When you've thought something all your life, it's strange to discover that it isn't "normal" (whatever that means).

Obsessions are pervasive intrusive thoughts or images which can vary from aesthetically frustrating images to violent and morbid scenarios. One that I have is a pirate ship ride which keeps going over and over and never stops or changes direction, however much I want it to. And I always want it to because I like things to be balanced; if the ship has gone round clockwise ten times, I need it to go anti-clockwise ten times. To make the ship change direction, I might repeat a physical action (like blinking), but it never works. To distract myself from the obsession, I might then enact an alternative compulsion such as repeating a short phrase over and over in my head until the total number of syllables I have uttered come to a total divisible by eighteen. And then I'd do it again, just to check I hadn't cheated the first time. And then I'd probably do it again, just in case I forgot how to count the second time. It's hardly a disturbing obsession or debilitating compulsion (particularly as I can do it whilst doing other things), but it serves as a good illustration of how OCD can manifest.

Detailing my own experiences of OCD is not my main aim, however, in this blog-post; if you want to understand what OCD might involve (as it's different for each individual), this is a great website. I want to talk about OCD from a more linguistic perspective; specifically, I want to talk about how it is not an adjective, and how flippant use of the term is contributing towards a serious misunderstanding of the disorder. I'm not a particularly ranty person, but this is something which really cooks my swede.

OCD is not an adjective, and if it were, it would not be a gradable one. One cannot "be" OCD, and if you have ever referred to yourself as being "so OCD" or "a little bit OCD, there's a strong likelihood that you do not know what OCD is, and an even stronger likelihood that it does not affect you.

Liking things clean and tidy does not mean you have OCD. Whilst compulsive cleaning or straightening manifests in many people who suffer from OCD, it is not because they like things clean and tidy. Once the OCD sufferer has cleaned or straightened, he or she will not be satisfied with the outcome, and will probably do it again. And again. And again. Many OCD sufferers - and I definitely include myself in this - are actually quite untidy people. Those television programmes about hoarders are a good example of how OCD can manifest.

OCD is used flippantly in reference to pet peeves, which makes absolutely no sense. How does being annoyed by something bear any resemblance to having your mind consumed by pervasive thoughts which trigger the execution of a useless and tenuously linked (or even unrelated) action which interferes with your ability to function? How does being annoyed by the misuse of apostrophes compare with feeling that every single decision you make has the potential to result in a global catastrophe? Arguably, this is true if you believe in The Butterfly Effect. I don't dissuade OCD sufferers from thinking about that, though; if you can genuinely predict the knock-on effect of your actions on a global scale, you are probably some sort of god.

Time for a quick personal example? Go on then. For years, I refused to eat Big Macs, not because of their shocking nutritional qualities, but because I thought a certain person would die if I did. And that person wasn't even somebody with whom I had any real connection. The compulsions carried out by those with OCD do not serve the purpose of satisfying the agent, and yet we still do them. I bloody love gherkins and Big Mac sauce, so I was certainly never satisfied at denying myself, healthily beneficial as it undoubtedly was.

Therefore, please think next time you use OCD as an adjective, and remember that it isn't one. It's a disorder which seriously affects people's lives, and flippant use of the term only serves to derogate it.

Right, I'm going back to the very important tasks of corpus trawling and syllable counting. After all, I wouldn't want a woman in Hartlepool to drive into a tree.

Namaste,
Emma

745 words and three kisses

"Your self-worth, beauty, strength, and overall awesomeness is not defined by numbers."

- Nia Shanks

There is a real obsession in our society on measuring progress, and we almost always do this using numbers. If I learned anything at university last year (and that clause really is conditional, because I genuinely wonder whether I did), it was that statistics can be incredibly misleading. The data we present is rarely the whole story, and we can claim almost anything by tailoring the presentation of authentic data to support our claims. 

Those who work in education look to hit targets, and a school's success is measured not by pupils' happiness, sense of wonder or love of learning, but by percentages and arbitrary variables. Instead of looking to do the best for each individual, schools are forced to prioritize figures, and many education professionals are forced to think of children only in terms of how they can contribute to those figures. Sometimes, the smallest improvement can make a huge difference to a child, and yet unless the improvement is in line with arbitrary expectations, that improvement does not contribute towards the precious targets set by people who don't even know that child. It is an incredibly sad situation, but it isn't exclusive to education. 

In the fitness industry, there is a real obsession with allowing numbers to define us, be it in terms of pounds lost within an specified period of time, lean muscle gained, weight lifted or body fat percentage. This is something which Nia Shanks talks about a lot. The quotation at the top of this blog is part of Nia's mission to show women that no number should define our self-worth, whether that number is a body measurement of any sort, or the numbers on the barbells or dumbbells we lift. Whilst numbers can give us targets to ensure a positive journey towards them, they can also cause us to forget why we actually do something. 

Last year, I noticed that my waist had shrunk after a few months of weight training (where my target was increased functional strength), and so I chose this random by-product of training to measure my subsequent progress as I tried to further increase strength. I am well aware that this makes absolutely no sense. I over-trained and I under-ate. I lost strength as I focused on this ridiculous process of Barbification, and it took a long time to realize that I had never even wanted a smaller waist, and that I had completely lost focus on my real reason for training. 

After a rocky year at university, I failed to achieve the target grade I had set myself; I was inconsolable. I allowed that grade to define me, and in my mind, it defined me as stupid, inferior, incompetent and incapable of further study. I know full well that I am none of those things, and that anybody who allows that grade to categorize me as such has no business doing so. 

The funny thing is that nobody is ever likely to label me based on arbitrary numbers from my life; I am the only person who really needs to accept that I am not defined by a grade, waist measurement or deadlift one-rep max. When I eventually hit the deadlift target I have set myself, I won't be a better person than I am now. I'll just be able to pick up slightly heavier things than I currently can. It's easy to lose focus. 

Measuring success with numbers happens in almost every area of life: word counts, weight loss, weight gain, pay grades, years in a relationship, goals scored, international caps, papers published, sexual partners, GCSEs... How often do we measure success by the age at which it is achieved? Why is it so important to be married before you're 30, 40 or even 50? Yes, it's very impressive if somebody reaches the top of his or her field by a very young age, but life is not a race, and we'll all get there in our own time. The exciting thing is that we don't know where "there" is, but we definitely know that it isn't a number.

I'm not saying numbers are bad, just that they shouldn't allow us to lose sight of reality. 

You know where we don't measure progress by numbers? Yoga. It is a non-competitive practice, and the only accurate measure of progress is happiness. Also, being upside-down is super cool.

Namaste

Emma

xxx

Comfort and relaxation are worlds apart

 'Do one thing every day that scares you.'

- Eleanor Roosevelt 

I've heard and read it so many times, but I finally understand it. Comfort zones are crap, and we only truly thrive outside them. Comfort and relaxation are not necessarily the same thing, and nothing better exemplifies this for me than practising yoga.

Some yoga postures can be difficult. As yogis, we sometimes fall flat on our faces; our muscles are less stretchy on some days than others; feet and calves cramp up; chaturangas tax our strength; trikanasanas instigate ankle burn; some days our wrists just cannot take crow’s poster; the core can be pushed to its limits with all manner of advanced postures and flows. And yet, any yoga practice will leave me feeling far more relaxed than an hour lying on a sofa in front of a television will.

We have no objectives when we lounge on a sofa, but striving to achieve a new yoga posture or sequence is a tangible goal. Achieving the goal is not even the relaxing or invigorating part; the journey towards it is. There are no real goals when sitting around in front of a television, phone or computer screen (unless we're creating something), and so there is no journey. All we have is stagnation.

Journeys trump stagnation all day long, and I truly believe that movement and focus is infinitely more relaxing than lounging in perceived comfort is.

Yoga is a physical and mental example of how leaving comfort zones can relax, invigorate and inspire enjoyable journeys towards planned objectives. Anything which takes us out of our comfort zones has the same effect, though. I had a terrible week a few weeks ago; I had never felt lower, spent two days crying, and completely lost my appetite due to anxiety. I had a phone-call telling me that I had to start my new job on the Wednesday; it was not good timing. By the Friday morning, I was exhausted. I wanted to cancel absolutely everything I had planned, because I couldn't imagine doing any of it, and just wanted to stay in bed. That's not me at all, and if there's one thing that makes me really sad, it's when I don't feel like myself. I couldn't even bring myself to cancel anything. I went to work, taught my yoga class, then raced to the astro-turf to coach my football team. As I drove home, I caught myself smiling. I wasn't tired anymore, and felt totally alive. I had been out of my comfort zone all day, and the focus it took to embrace the three things I did that day had brought me back to life. Being forced to connect with people gave me no time for self-pity, and I finally felt present again.

In other anecdotal news, I started a new kettlebell programme yesterday. (It's the one that everyone's doing; I don't usually like to follow fitness trends, but this one seemed right for me at this point.) I swung a 16kg kettlebell 500 times and did 60 goblet squats (yes, I made it harder) with it. It was not comfortable; it taxed my grip, endurance and just about every muscle in my body. And I didn't stop smiling. I was so far out of my comfort zone, but I was in control, and I was repeatedly amazed by what my body could do. I never feel strain or burn whilst watching television or messing about on Facebook. Physical taxation reminds me of what I have and what can do, and nothing makes me happier than that. I may not say the same thing after the twentieth session of swinging that 16kg kettle-bell 500 times, but until I stop smiling and instead start dreading picking up that humbling piece of iron, my pondering stands.

So that's my little take on how relaxation and comfort are worlds apart, and how leaving comfort zones enables us to thrive both physically and emotionally. Perhaps it only applies to the more masochistic among you, but I hope it makes some sense to someone.

 Namaste,
 Emma

xxx