I never really enjoyed being physical. I was the kid who was always picked last for team sports and faked having my period as much as possible so I didn’t have to participate in P.E. People seemed to have so much fun running and jumping and dancing. I just didn’t get it. When I had to engage in physical activities, not only did it not feel good, it felt bad. By about ten years old, I figured out that sports was not my thing and that I didn’t even like to walk for long periods of time. Don’t get me wrong, there were many things that I enjoyed, but physical activity was not on the list.
In college it got worse—the pressure to do aerobics, go for a hike, or play tennis was all around me. We had to take a P.E. course in college and I chose one that I thought had the least amount of movement: archery. I kept hitting bull’s eyes, in the target next to mine! I simply had no idea how to use my body and what it was doing. My self-image was, “this is Jodi, and this is her body, but never shall they actually meet.”
For a while, yoga seemed to bridge the gap between me and my body. I realized that I did indeed have a spine and it went all the way down my back. And the breathing helped calm me down. Yet I never felt truly connected to my physical body, except that I was now aware that I had pain from stretching. I didn’t even know that I wasn’t connected. I had a successful life, job, friends, and passions. I was fine.
About ten years ago, I thought maybe I’d give the exercise thing another try. After all, it was supposed to be good for me. I perused the community college catalog for something slow and gentle to ease me into movement. And there it was—a once a week class, on mat, that purported to be slow, gentle, and easy and was designed to facilitate ease of movement—Feldenkrais®. And since it was open to seniors too, I figured if they could do it, certainly a thirty-something could handle it. “Dress comfortably and bring a mat,” the catalog said.
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