I learned so much watching the recent Bikram yoga championship. Competitors were to be judged on grace and execution, and at first these terms seemed vague. Their meaning emerged as I watched 35 people performing the same postures 35 times. Far from being bored, I was mesmerized as the “repetition” revealed enormous differences and a nifty little balancing trick.

“Execution” covers matters such as neatly entering and exiting a posture’s full expression, and prolonging stillness while there. Are the yogi’s movements fluid or jerky? Does the yogini remain resolute after a goof? Do her limbs move as one or at a mismatched pace?

This last is crucial, for example, in standing bow, when coordinating how much and how fast the back arcs, the torso lowers, and the leg rises is a veritable dance. Execution here is entangled with grace. But grace is more obscure than execution, more about the poetry of motion than about the form, about poise rather than posture. Grace is the love of doing the yoga.

The competition also unveiled the mysterious physics of standing-head-to-knee pose. Many people (such as yours truly) fall out as they lower their heads. The teachers stress rooting the standing foot, and time and again at the competition I saw why: as the head comes down, the center of gravity shifts backwards. To help counter that, the yogi presses the big toe down, which increases the forward torque. That tiny body part is the key to the intricate balance of the pose. Inspired by that insight, I touched forehead to knee for the first time a day or two later. But oddly enough, I have not been able to do it again. I guess I have lost the visual.

The etiquette of practice is to look only at ourselves in the mirrors, not at others. The instructors instruct in rigorous detail, but the competition gives the opportunity to see the postures and see them done well, and the sight is worth a thousand words.

Namaste,
Yoga Lily