I finally made it to the yoga retreat last Friday afternoon. Right up to the day before–when my manager at work told the team that she had unknowingly exposed us to an upper respiratory virus—I wasn’t sure I was going. I went to bed that night convinced that I was going to wake up feeling too under the weather to make the drive from Pennsylvania to Massachusetts. But I was fine, thankfully, so I didn’t have to cancel and forfeit all the money I paid 6 months ago to hold my place.
I actually started thinking about cancelling a month ago, when I started wearing a walking boot on my left foot because of what was then diagnosed as a stress fracture. I’ve had them before–one in each foot, interestingly–and I was expecting to be stuck in that annoying footwear weeks past the start of the retreat. But long story short, I found out last week that it’s bursitis. Since I’ve always associated bursitis with old age, it made me feel like an 80-year-old when the podiatrist told me. But it meant I could stop wearing the boot, the pain was nearly gone, and I was cleared to make the trip.
And what a trip it was. I knew that navigating the series of interstates I had to take to get there and then get back 2 days later wouldn’t be fun, especially since I was going by myself. But getting to the place by train or plane was just too complicated, as neither of them would have gotten me any closer than 50 miles from the retreat location and then I would have had to pay even more money for a limo, taxi, or Uber each way from the airport or Amtrak station. So I sucked it up and drove.
5 1/2 hours after I left my parking space at home, I arrived on campus in the beautiful Berkshire mountains. A series of signs welcomed me as soon as I turned off Route 183, the first of which said, “Breathe. You’ve Arrived.” I was feeling way too tired and harassed to appreciate it, though. And it got worse before it got better.
I found my way to the 30-minute parking zone and went inside the main building to register. Registration? Easy. Room ready, so I could go right up and relax before my first yoga class? Check. Register for a relaxing massage while I’m there? Debit card declined. What???
I will be eternally grateful for the unruffled patience and understanding of the woman who checked me in because I was ready to lose it. She calmly walked me to a private room just a little bigger than a phone booth (there was actually a phone on the wall that can be used to call out!), and she suggested that I contact my bank to find out if my card was declined for out of state travel I hadn’t notified them about. I called. Bingo.
Back on track, I finished checking in, moved my car to long-term parking (which is NOT close to the building, mind you), and then made my first trip to my room with luggage. I don’t know if it was the midday heat, the altitude, the fact that I hadn’t drank (drunk?) any water for a few hours (never sure where I’ll be able to stop and pee on road trips), the complicated layout of the campus, or all of the above, but I wandered around in frustration for at least 15 minutes before I found my room. I asked a few people for directions along the way, and everyone was very nice, but no one knew for sure how to help me since they’d just arrived themselves. Ultimately, I had to figure it out for myself.
During my 2nd trip from the car, a bit more confident about where I was going, I rode up in an elevator with a young couple that was arguing about which activities they should do together during their stay. “I’m nervous about trying the standup paddleboarding because I heard that we’d be doing yoga poses on the boards and it sounds pretty advanced,” she said. “You said you wanted to open yourself up to new things on this trip,” he said, “and now you don’t want to do this with me?” Unfortunately, we arrived at my floor, so I never got to hear her reply. Clearly, that “Breathe” sign didn’t do anything for them either.
But it finally started working for me 4 hours later, when I arrived on my yoga mat for the first class of the retreat. Inhaling, then exhaling in synch with the live, soulful cello music and the instructor’s resonant words. Getting there felt close to impossible at times, but I’m glad I persevered.