I don't remember her name, just that she had straight blonde hair that hung halfway down her back and that she wore little skirts instead of shorts or the track pants that were so very popular in the early 1970s. I suppose, in retrospect, that they were tennis skirts. At the time, though, I thought it was really weird for a gym teacher to wear little skirts. If she did jumping jacks, her underwear would show!
It was January of my third-grade year at Clark Mills Elementary School and, because we were in New Jersey, that meant indoor gym; the blacktop and playgrounds were, at that time of the year, thigh deep in snow. I distinctly remember nets being strung across the gymnasium for volleyball, a game I enjoyed immensely except for the fact that nobody wanted me on their team since my power plays were quite non-directional and often wound up in another part of the gym. I was bored in the back row of our side of the court, waiting for my turn to "rotate" closer to the front of the net. The tall girls, Linda and Patty, were there now, repeatedly smacking the ball back into our opponents' territory while the rest of us stood by in case the ball passed them by. Except for me, that is. I sat by, just outside of the boundary line, crossing and uncrossing my legs and waiting for the command to rotate.
"What are you doing?" an adult voice asked, startling the bejeezus out of me. It was Blonde Gym Teacher. Her silver gym-teacher whistle was in her hand, ready to be blown to signal the change in player positions. She had undoubtedly raised it to her lips when she noticed delinquent little me on the ground instead of on the court.
I quickly jumped up. "Sorry," I mumbled as I shuffled to my empty spot, ready to shift two feet to my left at the sound of her whistle.
"No, that's not what I meant," she told me. "What were you doing just now?"
I blinked. "Sitting," I finally replied.
Her look was unfathomable. "Do it again," she instructed me, gesturing to the linoleum floor.
I instinctly obeyed and sat down, looking up at her questioningly.
She shook her blonde mane. "No, no, not like that," she told me. "Do that thing with your legs again."
I immediately pretzeled my legs into a cross-legged position, my feet resting on top of my thighs, without the use of my hands.
Blonde Gym Teacher nodded, a slight smile on her face. She quickly blew her whistle. "Rotate!" she called out, and I unwound my legs and headed to my new position. "No, not you, Ana. Come over here." She led me to the corner of the gym, away from the rest of the kids. Slipping her whistle's lanyard over her head, she turned to face me and asked, "Can you do this?" Very slowly and carefully, she lifted her right leg, bent at the knee, and set the sole of her foot against the inner thigh of her left leg, her arms lifted straight overhead.
It looked like she had made a number 4 out of her legs. Perhaps she was inviting me to play some strange new leg game with her. After all, she'd seen me cross and uncross my legs just moments beforehand. I smiled and, with the supreme confidence only the young possess, swiftly lifted my left leg and plunked its foot against my right thigh, shooting my arms up straight in the air to mirror Blonde Gym Teacher's pose.
Her eyes widened slightly — I understand now that it was because of the speed in which I assumed this posture — and she lowered her arms and leg. "That's really good, Ana," she told me. "I want you to practice doing this position at home for the next couple of days, and then on Thursday you can show me how good you've gotten with it." Gym homework? Ack! At least it wasn't practicing digging a volleyball.
When it was time for PE on Thursday, we trooped into the gym, only to be directed away from the volleyball nets and towards the open floor area. Blonde Gym Teacher lined us up in rows, with me in the front row near her. She had everyone sit down, which I did, doing my handsless leg pretzel or, as I now know, Padmasana, or Lotus Pose.
Blonde Gym Teacher blew her whistle for attention. "Today we're doing something different. There's a new kind of exercise that has started to become popular not just in New Jersey, but in New York and as far away as California. Raise your hand if you've ever heard of Yoga."
That day, my classmates and I learned our first Sun Salutation... and I officially started on the yogic path I follow to this very day.
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