Archives for posts with tag: running

Savasana (shah-VAH-sah-nah); Sanskrit: शवासन; IAST: śavāsana), or Corpse Pose[2] is an asana. Also known as dead body pose. Lying down legs spread, feet flopping outward, palms up. State of finding complete relaxation.

Have you ever experienced the pure bliss of a post-run savasana? If you haven’t, you probably should.

 Soaking up the vibrational life force of the beating heart is what many deem a natural high. Savasana allows the flowing endorphins to sink in, heightening that euphoric feeling .

Recently, one sizzling city day, I laid down post run and inadvertently fell into savasana. The sensation was extraordinary. Now, I cannot refrain from the urge to sprawl out for a big juicy savasana. It gives my heart a moment to rest, slow down, and beat. The sensation of my pumping heart creates an internal rhythm that triggers a meditative state.

I carry my baggage everywhere I go (thoughts, stresses, anxieties, fears, insecurities) running moves those emotions through me. Everything is released through my heightened rhythmic breath. Exhaling the stale, old, and tarnished, and inhaling the new, vibrant, fresh prana. Taking time in savasana after my run, allows me to sit in the stillness that my running practice cultivates. It turns my focus inward. My mind becomes free and clear.

I urge all runners to sample the glory of a post-run savasana. The power of shifting vibrational energy can be directly experienced in this state. The result of movement (aka exercise) is beyond aesthetic, not only shaping the physical form, but also sharpening emotional acuity.  Our bodies are vessels for our emotional memory. Everything is stored in our body. Quite literally, movement shakes things up. Why not find stillness after movement? Laying down and settling into savasana will let the dust settle and new life emerge.

Indulge yourself. Find savasana after your next run. Guaranteed it will feel delightful.

 Shine on free birds.


“Sometimes we love with nothing more than hope. Sometimes we cry with
everything except tears.”

Gregory David Roberts sums it up beautifully in his book Shantaram. Most people at one time or another hit a point of complete heartache, pain so deep it vibrates through your entire being. It is common to bury these feeling of pain deep inside our physical bodies, harboring it, keeping it safe, and hiding it from the world. Our bodies carry every emotion, every thought, every expression that passes through us. It is our life vessel. When Mr. Roberts says ‘sometimes we cry with everything except tears,’ he is directly referring to the physical sensation of sorrow and pain. Where do you hold it in your body? How can you cry without tears? Everyone is different—how does your body cry? A great way to release pain is to sweat. It’s our body’s way of crying. Sweating is our body’s way of releasing tears and shedding sorrow. Movement allows the human form to acknowledge the presence of pain and to release it. Running is my way to release the baggage that I harbor inside. Running is my way to be closer to God. Running sets me free. Yoga sets me free.

I am an advocate for seated meditation. It has extraordinary power in bringing awareness to your thoughts, reactions, and emotions. Silent meditation empowers the individual to recognize that we are in control of our own happiness. I highly recommend it to everyone, especially in circumstances of feeling frantic, erratic, or emotionally charged. Take a moment to sit in complete stillness (as much as you don’t want to). Five minutes will make an incredible difference. However, despite my strong belief in sitting meditation, I also believe moving meditation is equally as liberating. Physical engagement allows the mind and body to release simultaneously. Movement of the body allows the gunk—pain, anger, guilt, remorse, self-hatred—to be physically released.

Recently, my theory was solidified while I attended a Shakespeare workshop in the city. I found myself completely unable to connect to my character. I was emotionally indifferent and closed (an actor’s worst nightmare). Suddenly, as I continued to work on my monologue, my teacher prodded me in front of the class, pushing me to my limits and making me feel uncomfortable and vulnerable. A rush of emotion came over me. It felt as if it was rising up from months of being compacted and dismissed. My monologue came out in a blubbering fit. The tears did not end when my characters plight did. I cried for an hour. Suddenly, I realized that while my sitting meditation helped me to stay balanced in my daily life, I was in control, more mindful, and keenly aware of my surroundings. I had not given myself permission to release pain. I believe in (and strongly encourage) crying, sighing, moaning, screaming—it exposes the raw emotion. Silence is only part of the solution. For the majority of the population, those of us who have not attained the blissful awakened state of Samadhi, our life balance comes from a combination of things, all which allow us to fully realize our human form.