by Danielle Dayney

It’s so early in the morning that it’s still dark. Most of our city is sleeping, but I’m wide awake, riding in a car with three friends to a mindful triathlon in Washington, D.C. Part 5k run, part yoga, part meditation, all self-love. I’m not excited to run, but I will push myself so I can do yoga outside with a thousand other beautiful women. Lately, I’ve been so disconnected from who I am outside of my role as a mom. I’m hoping to find myself out there on the mat.

The conversation in the car flows like a river—filling cracks, rushing out of the windows. We are all on the same wave. Four women, each with two plus kids in our mid-thirties. Are they also looking for the deeper meaning and connection in life through this mindful triathlon?

We park on a side street two blocks from the old Redskins stadium, a beat up, tattered building with missing paint and windows. An elevated train track runs the length of the park and every once in a while, a screeching train races through. Not exactly the best place for yoga, but we’ll make it work.

After checking in and laying down our mats, we do a morning stretch for the 5k. Kate promises to stay with me since the other women are avid runners.

When the race starts, I jog. Slow. With intent. I push through one step at a time, because that’s what runners do. That’s what I have to do.

I have a tendency to think too much into the future. But right here, I’m focusing only on the step I’m creating. Then the next and the next. I’m not letting myself worry about the whole 5k, because that would overwhelm me and fill me with anxiety. I become part of the swell of people moving from start to finish. My sweaty cheeks bathe in the mid-morning September sun and, for a while, I forget about the race and enjoy the movement.

Then around the middle, my heels hurt. I’m not used to running, much less running long distances.

“I need to slow down for a bit,” I tell Kate. My voice is jagged, matching my breath.

“Only for a couple minutes.” She’s a stickler, pushing me to finish. I appreciate that.

Still, I stop several times to walk. It’s hard to get adequate air into my lungs. I glance down at my watch and see that we’re two-thirds done. That gives me the motivation I need. I pick up speed and trot past Kate.

We jog around, between and next to strangers. They will finish. Even though my feet and lungs are screaming, my head keeps telling me I will finish too. I listen, because the voice inside my head is the most honest. I’m not talking about the voice that shuts me down and shames me. I have to squash that voice. But the loving voice that can be so, so quiet—that’s my true self.

Right when I think I’ll pass out, I cross the finish line. The MC high-fives me. A smiling stranger hands me a water bottle. I may throw up from all the forward motion, so I cover my mouth.

“Don’t stop moving,” says Kate. “That makes it worse. Walk instead. Keep walking.”

I nod and walk in circles until I stop shaking.

I receive a text message. The others have gone back to the car to grab another yoga mat for a fifth friend who’s meeting us here for yoga and meditation. Kate and I shop at the vendors in tents. I buy a bright blue shirt. The words on the front read: remember to breathe. Kate and I stop at every booth to collect our free protein bars, waters, and vegan snacks.

When our group is back together, we return to our spots to prepare for yoga. Our mats don’t stay flat because the grass is a little long. It’s okay, we’ll make it work.

The instructor who leads the yoga session is like a cheerleader for our souls. We start slow, stretching and getting ready. Yoga is my soulmate workout. I love the breath, the lengthening, and feeling connected to the earth beneath my feet. Running may be my friends’ thing, but this is where I shine. The libra in me is steady and balanced as I flow between poses. I don’t think about down dog or cobra or even dancer. Muscle memory kicks in and takes me there. I am a strong and humble warrior.

In the middle of yoga, I realize how hungry I am. I open my protein bar while in half-moon and nibble on it.

While I’m still chewing, the instructor calls us all forward, off our mats, to dance by the stage. Women of all different shapes and colors are holding hands, united. Together, women can change the world, can be the difference. We hold hands and the positive energy is palpable, almost visible.

After a moment of prayer, we go back to the mats and begin our cool down. The music slows, and my breath deepens. I feel so good after this workout. We take our Savasana, and before I know what’s happening, we’re meditating. The sun is blazing, and Alyssa forgot sunblock for her face, but we’ll make it work.

When my head quiets, I have a flicker of clarity and realize that connection I’ve been missing was inside all along. It was there when I ran, pushing me along. It was there on the mat. And it’s there each day at home with my kids. She’s the voice inside. She is me.

Image by Myriams-Fotos from Pixabay