On my Knees - surrendering my pride
Wednesday, July 30th, 2008I’ve been having pain in my knees for the last several years. I suppose it all began in 2001 when I was hit by a truck, but I have too much karmic guilt to blame the 77 year old Alzheimer’s patient who hit me and died a couple years later. I sued the poor old man (his insurance company) to cover my medical expenses simply because my own insurance company refused to pay for the surgery to repair patella damage unless a lawsuit was filed. Part of me always felt that it was my own darn fault for being in the road in the first place even though the kindly gentleman accepted full responsibility at the site of the accident claiming that he saw me and simply forgot that I was there when he made his left turn through the crosswalk. This incident was the impetus for a doctor’s visit that diagnosed his Alzheimer’s, and I felt especially guilty for deciding to walk across the street to buy a salad that night. Karmically speaking, perhaps he needed the wake-up call, and I needed the guilt trip. Either way, my knees have never been the same since.
I never seem to feel the pain during my yoga practice, and I’m super careful to do everything right by my knees while on my mat. I’ve learned to modify lunges, to avoid deep weight bearing knee bends, and to send loving healing thoughts to my kneecaps whenever I can. The surgery was successful, and I healed up nicely, but I still have pain. It appears at odd times during my daily life, often bringing me, literally, to my knees. For example when I let my competitive spirit get the better of me and try to keep up with my husband when he takes stairs two or three at a time, my knees scream for mercy. Or, when I let my dog off leash to run and she runs a little further away than my comfort zone, and in anger, I run after her, my knees yelp with disgust. Whatever the incidence, when my knees scream, I find myself humbled in the situation at hand.
One day, however, when I let my dog off leash she took off running across the baseball diamond behind my house. Halfway across the field, she turned on her hind legs and landed facing me in her “play bow” with her curly tail corkscrewing behind her like a pinwheel. She invited me into her game, and I accepted her challenge. With a skip, forgetting for a moment about the tender ligaments in my knees, I launched into motion, chasing her, running and rolling on the ground before running some more. I laughed, she yipped, and we raced around the baseball field for the better part of twenty minutes before I remembered that I had “bad knees.” But I didn’t. Or did I? They certainly weren’t yelling at me then, nor did they for the rest of the day.
The next day, I proclaimed my knees 100% healed, and lunged as deeply into warrior two as my thigh muscles could engage. I even admired the depth of my pose in the tiny mirror of the closet door handle in my yoga room - oh the vanity! That night, I literally crawled up the stairs after my husband, crying in pain, and slept with two ice packs, one for each knee. My pride had gotten the best of me, and my knees were fast to scold me, so much so that they kept me out of lunges and in restorative poses for three days.
So what was so different that day in the playing field. Why were my knees happy then, but not so much the next day on my mat? Why do they yell at me sometimes and not others?
After nearly seven years of on and off knee pain, I began to realize that my knees yelled at me whenever I did something out of vanity, competition, anger, pride, or ego. Racing my husband up the stairs only feeds my competitive spirit, and my knees were telling me to let it go. Chasing my dog out of anger and spite only ignites further anger and spite, and my knees were telling me to relax and enjoy the walk. Deepening my yoga pose to look more like the pictures in the books or to look better in the tiny mirrors around me only boosted my pride and ego further away from the enlightenment I desired. Yet, playing with the dog out of joy and love, that’s a different story. My knees liked that, and responded appropriately. I realized that it was as if my knees were literally humbling me into my rightful place on earth. Like a good parent, they scolded negativity and pride while at the same time commended joy and love.
As I contemplated my situation further, I began to analyze the different yoga poses that involve my knees:
Child’s pose I begin every practice in this pose of pranam, bowing to the child within me, asking the Divine for guidance, requesting strength and surrender, praying for peace and forgiveness. No wonder my knees never hurt in this pose. There is no pride or anger or spite in Child’s pose for me, it’s all about prayer and intention.
Warrior Poses Everytime I practice warrior poses, or lunges of any sort, I need to be careful to kick my ego out the door first. Lunge deeper, go further, push harder, these are the words my American upbringing has come to hear, yet the exact words that push my knees into pain mode in lunges and warriors. A warrior is not one who fights the battle for the war, but is wise enough to know when a battle is not worth the consequence and will only prolong the war. A warrior is one who embodies the essence of “less is more”.
Chair Poses Oh I cringe at a deep chair pose. In my early days of yoga, I learned in Bikram class that chair is really synonymous with awkward, and if done too far, too deep, too long, too much can equal knee excruciation (is that even a word?). What I have now come to learn is that chair pose is about “taking my throne” and “sitting in the my seat” rather than finding the awkwardness of a situation uncomfortable.
Hero’s Pose & Fixed Firm Pose After my surgery, these two poses were virtually impossible. Kneeling of any sort was painful and tight, and so I learned to be gentle and ginger with my body. To listen to its screams and heed the warnings appropriately. Now, these poses are deeper than I could have ever imagined.



