I hear my body talk to me ~ A Surya Namaskar conversation

“Finally.” My body remarks sarcastically as I unroll the yoga mat. “Thought you could ignore me forever?”

I sigh. The moment has come – a long overdue reckoning. Years of slouching, scrolling, and slothfully avoiding movement have left my body stiff, shriveled, and simmering with resentment. I pretend not to hear the sarcasm. Instead, I take a deep breath and mentally map out the steps of Surya Namaskar before getting going.

Breathing deeply, I fold my hands in the Prayer Pose. My palms press together, my feet ground into the floor, and I hear my body scoff, “Oh, we are doing this now?”

I inhale, arms rising toward the sky. My shoulders groan. “You’ve been folding inward like a human croissant for years. Unfold us!” The left actually creaks, like an old door hinge in a haunted house. But miraculously, it complies.

And then, the real reckoning begins.

As I exhale and bend forward, my body – after months of deep lethargy – stages a coup. Joints crack. Muscles protest. Hamstrings pull taut. My stomach squishes uncomfortably against my thighs and shrieks, “What fresh hell is this?!”

I reach for my toes, and my body responds with a mocking chuckle. Undeterred, I exhale, relax my upper body, and inch a little closer – until, at last, my fingertips graze my toes. Just as I savor the small victory, my body interrupts with a sharp command: “Next!”

I ease one leg back into Equestrian Pose. My hips—accustomed to sofa life—sulk. My thighs grumble. My fingertips press into the mat as the stretch claws its way up my legs. And my body prods smugly, “Keep going.”

Then comes Plank Pose. My arms shake under the weight of, well, me. My core mutters, half betrayed, half disappointed: “We used to be stronger.” I breathe through it, a silent apology forming in my mind. I’m here now. We’ll fix this. But my body, skeptical and unforgiving, is not buying it.

Though I am not prepared for what happens next.

As I lower myself into Eight-Limbed Pose, my hands betray me – I slip and crash face-first onto the mat. “See what you have done to yourself,” my body jeers. I stay there for a moment, winded, flushed, utterly humiliated. How did I let it get this bad? The question barely forms before my body delivers its smug response: “You know the answer.”

With quiet determination, I push myself back up into the Pose. This time, my body lets out a reluctant sigh. “You’re listening,” it admits grudgingly. “It’s about time.”

The Downward Dog is tough. My calves scream, elbows quiver, and my hamstrings are, I am sure, actively plotting revenge. But there’s something oddly satisfying in all of this. Especially when my body, finally relenting, concedes: “You’re working on me. That’s all I ask.”

As I go through the last few motions of Surya Namaskar, my body doesn’t feel as stiff or accusatory. Instead, it feels hopeful. “Do this regularly,” it says, softer now. “At least thrice a week. And I’ll reward you.”

Finally, back in Pranamasana, hands folded in gratitude, I hear it whisper one last time. “We’re in this together,” it says.

And for once, I listen.

Fully. Completely. With the attention it deserves.

And I know we’ll get there. Slowly. Surely. Together.