From here, regarding the lengthening of the lateral rotator muscles in a pose where the front leg is laterally rotated.
I have found the answer, at least as it relates to the piriformis. Because the other deep rotator muscles have nearby locations, I would not be surprised if a similar explanation applied to them as well.
Bottom line? Flexion makes it happen.
[Dr. Joe Muscolino instructing for learnmuscles. Video via YouTube.]
Essentially, in anatomical position — think: a biology class skeleton hanging from a hook — the piriformis (and other lateral rotators) do externally rotate the thigh. In anatomical position, the origin of the piriformis on the sacrum is also basically in a straight line with its insertion point on the femur.
However, when the hip is flexed — as is the case with the front leg in pigeon — the piriformis (I do not know about the other deep rotators) ends up wrapping around the front of the hip socket. In a way that’s only clear to me when I view it, contraction of the piriformis at that point actually stimulates medial (internal) rotation. In that situation, external rotation actually stretches it.
Last time I did an anatomy post, it was to check out the hip abductors, the muscles on the outside of the hip, whose job it is to pull the hip and thigh outward away from the midline of the body — a la warrior two or any of the straddle poses. Now it’s time to look at the hip adductors, the complementary muscles on the inside of the thigh, whose job it is to pull the hip and thigh across the midline of the body — think crossing your left leg over your right, for example.
As I was doing my initial research, I discovered that there seems to be some discrepancy about which muscles, precisely, the hip adductors are. That is, some sources list as few as three muscles in the group while others include as many as seven. Essentially, some of the muscles play a large role in hip adduction and/or have adduction as their primary function whereas other muscles play a smaller role in the movement and/or have adduction as a secondary (or even tertiary) function. The way I’m looking at it, this means a couple of things:
Most poses that involve hip adduction are going to mainly impact the three major/most common hip adductors.
Some of the muscles that perform actions besides hip adduction may be addressed in other segments of the hip series.
Also, I am a little bit lazy. For those reasons, I’m going to focus on the adductor brevis, adductor longus, and adductor magus here.
As you can hopefully decipher from this diagram, those three muscles are sort of layered along the inner thigh of each leg:
“Anterior Hip Muscles 2″ by Beth ohara. Own work. Uploaded to Wikimedia Commons on 31 January 2006. Shared via Creative Commons 3.0 License.
The adductor brevis is, as its name implies, the shortest of the three main abductor muscles. It starts on the pubic bone and extends to the upper portion of the femur. Immediately below that is the adductor longus, which originates on the pubic bone and extends to the middle third of the femur.
Both the adductor brevis and the adductor longus are relatively superficial muscle layers. Beneath them lies the adductor magnus, which actually has two portions: an adductor portion and a hamstring portion. It also starts on the pubis — a little farther out to the side than either brevis or longus — and attaches all along the thigh bone (as opposed to the others, which have much narrower attachment points).
Tight adductor muscles can cause groin pulls, which are, of course, the injury no one wants to explain. And weak adductor muscles can cause imbalance in the hips and pelvis — meaning that muscles like the tensor fasciae latae and the gluteal group can have too much pull, causing the pelvis and the low back to pull out of alignment.
Of course, a lot of the asanas that stretch the adductors strengthen the abductors, and so we’ve covered them. Similarly, a lot of the poses that strengthen the adductors stretch the abductors, and so we’ve covered those too. I promise I’ll try to get creative with this leg of the serieS!
We did talk about the main butt muscle, gluteus maximus, already. But there are also two deeper layers of glutes — medius and minimus — who do things with the hips too.
Action, we will get to. First, let’s make sure we all know what body parts we’re talking about, using handy dandy line diagrams.
It’s a little tricky to see here, but the gluteus medius sits under the muscle layer that is the gluteus maximus:
It runs across the back of the iliac crest and attaches to the top of the femur bone.
One layer below that, in basically the same location and shape, lies the gluteus minimus:
It starts a little lower on the iliac crest — on the flatter outside surface, rather than toward the top rim — and doesn’t extend quite so far down the head of the femur. But in the grand scheme of things, the gluteus minimus is more or less the Mini Me of the gluteus medius.
Then there is the oddball of this group, the tensor fasciae latae. Like the two glutes above, the tensor fasciae latae starts on the outside of the iliac crest. However, the tensor faciae latae sits more forward than do either of the gluteal muscles — and it extends down the lateral side of each hip as well, where it inserts into the IT band.
[Sorry about the giganticness of the picture. "Medium" was too small to be clear; this is "large." Anyway, the tensor fasciae latae is on the left side of the illustration, about one third of the way down.]
All of these muscles are hip abductors. They move the hip and leg away from the midline, as in pretty much any straddle-type pose. Additionally, these three muscles work together when it’s necessary to support the body on one leg.
You know what this means, people — standing balance poses. (And straddle stuff. Because I like straddles.)
Even as I was writing about hamstring strengthening in warrior 1, I was aware that standing poses do not work so well for everybody. When I’m having a serious pain day — you know, as opposed to all the humorous, light-hearted pain days — they’re among the first types of poses I have to set aside. While I am aware that locust pose is still not perfect in this regard, I’m hoping that the variety, at least, will make hamstring strengthening postures more accessible to various people.
Quick hamstring recap: One of the body movement jobs that the hamstrings handle is to extend the thigh back behind the pelvis. This is true of the back leg in warrior one; it is also true of both legs in locust.
Additional note: I am aware that there is also shoulder and back stuff going on when locust uses all four limbs. That’s awesome, it really is, but I’m going to focus on the leg movement here.
[Cathie Ryder instructing for Expert Village. Video via YouTube.]
A couple of points on the hamstring-strengthening, leg-lifting aspect of it:
Even though I’m talking about this as a hamstring strengthening pose, there is still lower back work going on here too. Because that has the potential to cause back-crunchy ungoodness, it’s probably important both to be aware of it and to take care of the low back in this pose — even if that means I don’t lift my leg as far.
For me, grounding my pelvis — basically, pressing my pubic bone into the floor — is key to lengthening my low back and thus keeping it happy in the pose.
If I let my thighs externally rotate — which they naturally want to do because that’s how my particular hip sockets work — my glutes do the lifting work rather than letting the hamstrings take it on. While it’s not necessarily a lot more physical work, I do have to make a conscious mental effort to keep my thighs internally rotated.
Additionally, for some people, lifting both legs at once may not be happening, at least not right now. For anyone who would prefer it, there’s an option to lift one leg at a time. (And to the best of my knowledge, all the practice points from the list above still apply.)
[Video by Esther Ekhart via YouTube.]
Next hip post, I promise to get back to some stretching — and then move on from the hamstrings.
Erm, well, hamstrings. I am not so much a fan of the eating kind of ham. However, the more I looked into glute stuff, the more I realized that when it comes to hip extension, the gluteus maximus usually works in tandem with the hamstrings. So while I’m not quite done talking about the gluteus maximus yet, I am putting that on hold to talk about these a bit:
[The biceps femoris, part of the hamstring group.]
[The semitendinosus, another muscle in the hamstring group.]
[And the semimembranosus, the final main muscle in the hamstring group. This pic makes it a little difficult to tell, but the semimembranosus appears smaller here because it is deeper than the other two muscles, not because it's actually smaller.]
So. The hamstrings are a group of muscles that really do — at least as well as muscles can — look like strings. The relevant ones all have their origin on the ischial tuberosities (the sitting bones, part of the pelvis) and and up attaching to different portions of the shin bones. And they all work both to extend the hips as well as to flex the knees.
Tight hamstrings can happen for a number of reasons — spending a lot of time sitting with bent knees (such as at desk or other chairs), repetitive motions like running, even because they’re trying to protect the lower back from strain. Similarly, strong hamstrings are good for knee and hip health, particularly when it comes to balancing the (often bulkier) quadriceps. Because of that, I’ll spend the next few hip series posts looking at yoga postures that do both — though maybe not both at once.
So, intermittently, I’ve been talking about hips, most recently, about the hip flexors. Now it’s time to talk about butts.
Specifically, the gluteus maximus, a big ass (pun intended) muscle and one of the main hip extensors. (The other muscle group involved in hip extension is the hamstrings, but their location and action is distinct enough to warrant them getting their own segment.) Hip extension is basically the movement of drawing the thigh backward behind vertical and/or a neutral pelvis alignment.
While the glutes function as hip extensors more during running and jumping more than they do during walking, they are well and truly all over the hips — which is a claim the hamstrings cannot make and why I am going about things ass first. (Also, for the butt jokes. Can you blame me?) Of the three gluteal muscles, the gluteus maximus is the closest to the skin’s surface. It has its origins on the sacrum, the top of the iliac crest (that curvy bone at the top of the pelvis), and the fascia (connective tissue) near the lumbar spine and the gluteus medius. On the lower side, parts of it attach to the femur and to the IT band.
Hip extension is the complementary action to hip flexion. Since there’s a tendency for contemporary people to have hip flexors on the tighter side, it can help to have strong hip extensors in order to counterbalance the pull on the pelvis. Weak glutes can result in some instability in the lumbar spine, which can then sometimes lead to back pain. Similarly, an inflexible gluteus maximus can increase the risk of lower back injury during some activities.
So. That’s the hip flexor most directly attached to the hips themselves. That’s also the top layer of the butt. I’ll be getting to the other hip flexors later as well as some of the deeper butt muscles. But up next with hip yoga: gentle ass stretches.
Still looking at low lunge to stretch the hip flexors, this is just a quick post highlighting some fun variations. Mostly, they start to incorporate other areas of the body into the stretchy goodness.
The first one I actually do opposite of what the video shows:
[Video from geobeats via YouTube.]
What I mean is, when I side bend toward the back leg, I feel the stretch in the outer hip on my front leg. Good for what it is, but often not where I’m trying to go. If what I’m really wanting to stretch is the hip flexor on my back leg, I side bend in the opposite direction — specifically, away from that back hip flexor. And actually, I feel this less in my side body but rather more intensely in my back hip — which probably says something funky about my hips.
Next, a variation that builds nicely off the side bend — particularly, at least the way it happens in my body, that side bend toward the front leg: prayer twist. While the side bend starts to open up my torso for the twist, actually getting into the twist works better for me if I come back up straight first.
[Video features Sage Roundtree instructing for Competitor.com. Via YouTube.]
I like this particular instruction as it features a few options for gradually moving deeper into the twist. One more possible variation, spoken as someone whose spine is willing but whose breasts sometimes (depending on the bra, if I’m PMSing, etc.) keep me from getting my elbow all the way across to my outer thigh: Sometimes the leverage from placing my elbow on top of my thigh — not on top of my knee — is enough. That is, pushing down into my thigh works a lot like it does in extended side angle to provide spinal lift and room to twist.
As far as what I feel in this pose, it’s a good way to add a spinal twist — which makes my mid back happy — and outer hip stretch (for the front leg) into the mix. And after warming up my back with a spinal twist, I might be ready to go into this quad stretch:
[Video from geobeats via YouTube.]
(Note: It’s also worth noting that I generally don’t take all of these variations in succession, at least not without giving my poor hip flexor a break first! On a day where I’m focusing on my hips, I might take each of these in its own sun salutation. On a day where I’m not, I might take one or two as part of a sequence where my body feels ready for it.)
I’m very careful about this one because I’m prone to feeling it quite intensely in my quad. And the quads are kind of a big muscle to feel stretching intensely. So I go slow here and often don’t pull my foot in very far. Oh, and for folks who have trouble grasping their back foot or ankle, a strap can be a good prop here.
Next time, I will make a brief — maybe brief? I know the pose I’m doing and there are variations — foray into hip flexor strengthening. It will be a lot of workmaybe a little shaky and burny fun. Yeah, fun.
So the heavy duty hip flexor is the iliopsoas muscle group, half of which I included as part of the core series because the psoas portion has its origin point on the lumbar spine and because the iliopsoas can have an impact on pelvic tilt and therefore a number of other core muscles.
To recap quickly, the psoas starts on the front of the lumbar spine and crosses over the front of the pelvis, sort of like this:
Don't lie. You've missed my stick figure drawings.
As it passes over the ilium (the wide, gently curved bones that make up either side of the pelvis), it meets up with the iliacus, and together they continue until they both insert onto the front of the femur:
Because a lot of common activities — walking, running, bicycling, sitting — involve hip flexion (and therefore the iliopsoas being shortened/contracted), it’s generally more common for people to have too-tight hip flexors instead of hip flexors that lack that sort of contracting strength. And because my hips are definitely in this group — I can feel them tighten as I sit and type — I will be devoting more time to stretches rather than strengthening exercises for the upcoming section of the series.
Well, first, I need a new anatomy series. Not only does it make my NerdBrain happy, but it also makes for manageable writing when I am otherwise distracted — by events such as the MASSIVE PILE OF WORK I need to do before the end of the school year.
Why hips, specifically? They are pretty nifty little — okay, big — joints. They have multiple types of movement — flexing and extending, abducting and adducting, internal and external rotation — which is plenty enough for a nice long series. (Additionally, some poses involve more than one type of motion.) Moreover, the muscles that facilitate all these different movements have attachment or insertion points on places like the femurs, the pelvis, and the lumbar spine.
[Video by envisionphysio via YouTube.]
It is probably unsurprising, then, that hip tightness and range of motion issues show up in some people with low back pain, pelvic pain, even knee pain. Personally, well, I had two of those even before I started running. (My knees were and are still fine.) And I know running has increased the tightness in my own hips. I’ve always been sort of vaguely aware of the different muscles surrounding the hip joint, but I never went through them in systematic detail.
Months ago, in a series I thought would take me weeks, I began talking about the core as a box of muscles:
Pretend this is your core on pretty colors.
Today, I’m finally ready to start talking about the final face on that box: the pelvic floor.
I spent a long time — I’m talking years, counting from the time I started practicing yoga — hearing the term “pelvic floor” but not really knowing what it was. I mean, I knew that it was “those muscles at the bottom of the pelvis” or “the ones you use to kegel,” but I couldn’t envision structure or function in the same way I could picture, say, my biceps and triceps working as I moved my arm. It didn’t help that when I did research, a lot of diagrams ended up looking like this: Which do very little to illustrate WTF is going on down there. Then, about a year and a half ago, I attended one of Leslie Howard’s pelvic floor workshops, and for the first time, I got to see what the pelvic floor actually is and does.
For starters, there’s more than one muscle; in fact, there are layers of muscles. There are layers that are deeper and more superficial, but basically, they form a sort of diamond shape that attaches to the pubic bone (at the front), the “sit bones” (at each side), and the tailbone (at the back). Because this diamond encompasses so much — in terms of how far forward, sideways, back, and deep it extends — it influences a lot more than just the vagina. The main function of the more external layers involves contracting and relaxing whatever orifices are present (urethra and anus for pretty much everyone, vagina roughly 50% of the time) while the deeper layers tend to be more about support for the pelvic organs. (Side note for now: This does mean that exercises that involve contracting pelvic orifices — like kegels — don’t activate all of the pelvic floor muscles. More about that in future posts.)
Though this video focuses on the pelvic floors of people with vaginas, it does a good job of explaining the anatomy and basic categories of potential problems:
(Video by Hold It, Sister! via YouTube.)
Additionally, like other muscle groups, pelvic floor muscle tone includes both the ability to contract (i.e., strength) and to relax (i.e., flexibility). In a lot of the sources I read, including those focused on yoga and on sexual health, there’s a lot of discussion about what people can do to have a stronger, tighter pelvic floor. But a pelvic floor can be too tight, which can ironically lead to some of the same problems as a pelvic floor that isn’t tight enough. Functional strength includes the ability to yield.
I post this alignment thought not because I’m an expert or because I even know if it’s a common issue, but because it’s one that I do myself. Also, it relates to the psoas muscles, and aren’t things nifty when they follow a theme?
Some relevant physical background: I have a very bendy lower back as well as psoas muscles that have some tightness. By “have some tightness,” I mean that while I don’t know they compare to other’s psoas muscles (psoases?), I do know that they are sometimes the muscles that keep me from deepening a pose. I also have an anterior pelvic tilt and chronic pelvic pain. It’s plausible that tight psoas muscles might be contributing to one or both of those, but it’s impossible to say for sure right now.
In paying attention to my psoas muscles, I’ve started focusing on my pelvic alignment in my standing postures — particularly forward-facing standing postures like high lunge and warrior I. For a long time — years, probably — I’ve been letting my pelvis tip forward in these poses so that my tailbone points more toward the back wall than it does toward the floor:
If you check out my butt angle -- THAT IS NOW THE TECHNICAL TERM, Y'ALL -- you will see that it points behind rather than down.
Compare this to a low lunge where I made a conscious effort to lengthen my tailbone toward the ground. The angle isn’t perfectly perpendicular, but there’s a noticeable difference from the first picture:
The butt angle here is diagonal, yes, but much more "down" than the high lunge butt angle.
For the record, it’s the same in warrior I — a pose that’s probably more relevant because I spend more time there — but I didn’t have a good set of comparison pics on file.
Because of the flexibility in my low back, letting my lumbar spine carry the poses has been the path of least resistance for me. Which is not always a bad thing but in this case meant I was not having as awesome an experience in warrior I and high lunge as I could. To be clear, even though this is a distinct possibility for some people, I never found overbending to be painful or uncomfortable here. So what, exactly, is the big deal?
The big deal, at least to me, is that I’m missing out on growth in the pose. If I tread the path of least resistance, doing what my body does comfortably anyway, I’m stretching the muscles that are already flexible and strengthening the muscles that are already strong. And I’m doing so at the expense of strengthening the muscles that are weak and stretching the muscles that are tight.
Because when I do try warrior I with my tailbone lengthening down, my pelvis in a neutral tilt, and my back leg as the primary anchor of the pose — there is some bodily change going on there, let me tell you. The psoas on my extended leg is stretching, maybe not super intensely, but quite enough that I can feel it. And on that same back leg, because I’m pressing into it so strongly, there is some kind of muscle on the outside of my hip — maybe my gluteus medius — that is working hard to stabilize my whole body in the pose. On the whole, it’s more freeing and more rewarding to feel like I’m making a difference to my body.
In this case, at this time, it does not serve my body or my practice to follow the path of least resistance.
Another supine posture that’s somewhat reminiscent of wind-relieving pose (see how I was mature there and did not say fart pose?), this version involves movements that strengthen the psoas muscle:
For me, this series is less about the movements being physically difficult for my core and more about using them as a way to gain awareness of what the muscles in my core — in this case, my psoas muscles in particular — are doing. My psoas muscles are strong enough to perform the work in this series, but my erector spinae in that area are used to being recruited when there’s pull on the psoas, so that’s what they want to do here. It’s not a strong impulse, but it’s consistently present.
Don’t lie. You’ve missed my stick figure drawings.
I find it necessary to keep my hands on my hip points during this series. I’m not pressing down on my pelvis because I want to make sure my core muscles are the ones holding my core. Rather, keeping my hands there — at least right now, when I’m trying to develop awareness — gives me good feedback about what is moving, what is stable, and what wants to be working in my core.
Plus, you know, after I am done, I’m all set up to stretch my psoas in fart pose.
I do understand that pavanamuktasana’s more accurate English translation is “wind-relieving pose,” but really:
Brace yourself for the big secret: “Wind-relieving” is actually a euphemism for farting.
Would not all of yoga be better if we had a posture we called “fart pose”?
From a core perspective, fart pose — okay, fine, “wind-relieving pose” — is a supported way to stretch the psoas. It also has a variety of modifications, which I’ll get to in a minute:
[Video by Moksha Yoga via YouTube.]
Essentially, because the muscles of the extended leg are working to keep that leg on the ground, the action is the same as if that hip were extending behind the torso. This is why keeping the extended leg active is actually really important to the posture.
Maybe for a clearer visual, when I do it, my extended-leg quadriceps (and to a lesser extent, my glutes on that side) are contracting to keep my leg on the ground. If I contracted those same muscles while standing, that hip and leg would start to extend back behind me. The resulting action on the psoas is that the psoas on the extended leg lengthens and stretches to some degree. How intense that stretch feels will depend on the individual body, and even on the individual leg: it’s not at all uncommon for a muscle on one side of the body to be noticeably tighter or looser than the corresponding muscle on the other side.
For some people the version of the stretch shown above will be just right. For others — or for those same people having different kinds of days — there are modifications. (For modifications I might miss here, the first link in this post details some good ones as well.)
If the first version of the pose is too intense for the extended leg, it’s okay to bend that extended leg a little or a lot until the stretch feels okay. Over time, if the hip flexors on the extended leg are accommodating, you’ll be able to move that leg from bent toward less bent toward straight.
If it’s difficult to clasp the shin — sometimes true for folks whose arms are on the shorter side or torso and thighs are on the thicker side — you can use a yoga strap (or yoga-strap-like-object) across the shin or clasp over the hamstrings instead. I’ve also heard from folks with knee problems that they sometimes prefer holding the hamstrings as well in order to relieve any pressure on the bent knee.
If you’re not getting quite enough psoas stretch through an active extended leg, you can try raising the arm on that side (so, left leg extended and left arm extended) along the ground above your head for a little added intensity.
If you’re still not getting a noticeable psoas stretch from wind-relieving fart pose, no worries: We’ll explore some different stretches later in the series.
Clearly, I am overtired and need to go to bed. Because fart pose.
This is one of those stories where someone — lots of someones, actually — told me I couldn’t do something — in this case, a standing split balance pose — and then I went ahead and did it anyway. This is also one of those stories where I discover I have an attachment to being right and to smugness (my own, not other people’s). This is also a story about shoes.
I’ve been working with various expressions of standing split for maybe 7 or 8 years. First it was about getting my hamstrings to loosen up: they’re generally quite obliging about this sort of thing. Then it was about developing the core strength to open my heart center enough to start thinking about balancing (entering the pose with both hands on my standing ankle rather than on the ground). Now — and for the past 4 years or so — it’s been about playing with balancing. And, you know, not falling on my face. Because that would kind of hurt.
While trying the standing split with one hand on the ground, I’ve been offered a few reasons why I’ve had extended trouble moving into the balance:
My core muscles aren’t strong enough to stabilize the rest of my body.
My core muscles might be strong, but there’s too much weight to be supported over one ankle.
My center of gravity is too variable. Since fat jiggles, my torso is not as still in the pose compared to the torso of someone with less fat.
At one point, a teacher at a studio I visited told me to “accept that it’s never going to happen.”**
I believed these for years. Not only that this pose might be more difficult for me than for someone of a smaller frame (which may well be true) and that it was unreasonable for me to try to attain it (something I know is downright false).
But really? I think the physical weakness has been my soleus this whole time.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been going about my day-to-day life in minimalist shoes (I’m not going to claim they’re magic for everyone, but they work well for my body), which try to approximate what life would be like in bare feet — and which consequently strengthen the muscles of the lower legs, feet, and ankles. In particular, I’ve noticed the muscles in the lower halves of my calves becoming noticeably stronger, meaning, I am now aware they actually do things.
Like help me balance on one ankle.
For years, I struggled with this balancing standing split, and I thought the problem was in one of the so-called “problem areas” of my body — my hips, my core, my boobs. I had been told this, with varying degrees of certainty, by people who are more generally knowledgeable about yoga and anatomy than I am.
If the explanations — the pose was unattainable because of my body size or fat — had turned out to be true, I would have worked to accept it. But this is not the truth.
The truth is that the more upper areas of my body — my thighs and my core — may have been strong enough for a while and are certainly strong enough now. I feel the change in my lower calves and ankles, the muscles that are now creating the stable base for the pose. While I’m still getting used to this new-found base, I find that I am repeatedly able to hold the pose for a minimum of six to eight breaths — enough to tell me this is not a fluke.
It is possible the “fat parts” of me have been strong enough the entire time. It is possible that the weaker parts were the parts that were made weak by conforming to gendered fashion expectations. It is possible that everything I’ve been told about what the weight of my body “can’t” do is a lie.
No, I don’t expect that’s true for everything I’ve been told, but I welcome the adventure of being proven wrong.
** I think there are relevant philosophical difference between accepting that it’s never going to happen and essentially being told to give up. And I believe learning to accept limitations is a meaningful spiritual practice. However, given the instructor’s tone and the way she treated her older students (i.e., ones with visible wrinkles) and me (the only fat student) throughout the class leads me to believe her intention was the latter.
But it has nothing to do with aesthetics, so we all but miss it in every single workout.
– Bryan Kest (via my memory), talking about the psoas muscle during navasana in one of his Power Yoga DVD practices
I may not have every word right, but the basic sentiment is accurately portrayed. And whether a lot of people are particularly likely to need psoas strengthening, the idea, I think, applies to physical fitness more broadly.
First, and this is applicable to my psoas, I tend to ignore stretching some muscles that don’t directly affect my appearance — or that I don’t think of as directly affecting my appearance. For example, I know I have some stiffness in the muscles along the sides of my ribcage. While I do make an effort to stretch them at least a little each day, I’ve never sequenced an asana practice to target the release of those muscles. One part of the reason for that is because my tightness there, while not comfortable, doesn’t really affect the aesthetic shape of my body.
Contrast that with the muscle tightness I feel across the front of my shoulders and chest. Not only have I sequenced personal practices specifically to open up that area of my body, but I’ve also attended a number of classes and used a myriad of videos with the same stated purpose. In some of those instructional practices, the teacher brought in the idea of aesthetics. Having a tight chest and shoulders can contribute to back pain, yes, but I’ve also witnessed plenty of yogis demonstrate the hunched shoulders and rounded spine and remark on how that isn’t very attractive.
Although I’m not sure I’d “all but miss” my heart center if it weren’t a factor in creating what I consider an aesthetically pleasing line to my body, I can’t deny that aesthetics plays some role in the muscles I choose to stretch.
Similarly, aesthetics also plays a role in the muscles I choose to strengthen. Regular readers might have noticed my recent-ish (in the grand scheme of my practice) fascination with feet. For the past few years, I’ve experienced intermittent foot pain in my standing postures. I chalked this up to my foot anatomy and the increasing frequency, duration, and physical intensity of my asana practices, deciding it must be a side effect that comes with the territory. Until I stumbled on the idea online — while researching another topic only tangentially related — it had never even occurred to me that I could stretch and strengthen the muscles in my feet — the way I did the rest of my body — so they’d be better able to support me in standing poses.
Again, I don’t think aesthetics is the only force at play here, but if it were my butt or thighs hurting in the postures? I probably couldn’t avoid knowing how to strengthen or tone those if I wanted to. However, strong, supple feet are really not a showcase image in most people’s conceptualization of the aesthetic ideal.
But it goes deeper — or maybe broader — than that. Recently, the blog Living ~400lbs posted The Fitness Question, asking readers if the benefits of exercise would be worth it if they never lost weight. Weight loss is only one aspect of aesthetics, but I sometimes wonder if there’s a similar principle at play on a grander scale — that is, if a major motivator in people’s exercise habits is the hope or expectation that it will help them to look a certain way.
The expectation can take a number of forms; “tone” is one I hear often — that regular exercise will increase the appearance of muscle definition (which may or may not include muscle mass) while decreasing the appearance of surface fat. Of course this doesn’t happen with every body: on mine, the muscles arrive where they will, but the surface fat that’s always been there I now acknowledge as a permanent fixture of my form.
I also sometimes interpret “tone” as “flexibility” — that is, a truly toned muscle will stretch as well as contract. For a long time, I hung on the hope that if I toned and stretched my muscles enough, I’d eventually develop the flexibility to get into every single yoga asana (or at least every asana a teacher might reasonably demonstrate in class). It took some study of anatomy and even more self-study to understand that:
There’s more to it than that. Bone shapes, sizes, and angles vary widely — and they also play a significant role in what a particular asana looks like — not to mention how it feels — for any given individual’s body.
Sometimes — like in the case of arm binding — regardless of muscle flexibility or the shape of my spine or shoulders, it ain’t ever gonna happen, at least not in a way that is beneficial for me.
Of course it’s good to use anatomical- and self-knowledge to determine what’s causing any particular limitation and whether it’s helpful or harmful to try to push a given edge. And in the course of that determination, it’s empowering to recognize the pressure (from self or society) to strive for a particular aesthetic and to name that hangup for what it is.
There are aspects of movement, meditation, and health that have nothing to do with aesthetics. It’s a rewarding challenge to find the space for them.
I’ve known the basics of the psoas muscle for a while, but I have to admit, I’ve only given significant personal thought to it fairly recently.
For folks who are new to this whole psoas business, the psoas is basically the deepest core muscle. It originates in the lowest thoracic vertebra and each vertebrae in the lumbar spine. Then it crosses to the front of the body across the pelvis, where it attaches to the femur. In stick figure visual terms, like this:
The main function of the psoas muscles — there’s one on each side — is to flex the hips. They also play a role in externally rotating the femur in the hip socket and in laterally bending the spine.
Why does the psoas matter? A lot of our daily motions — sitting, walking, running — involve hip flexion and therefore the contraction of the psoas muscles. Fine and good, except in cases where the psoas becomes too tight, which is not so uncommon. This can lead to a shortening of the muscle, anterior pelvic tilt, and low back compression — any or all of which could create or exacerbate pelvic or low back pain.
Pelvic or low back pain.
Wait. I might know someone like that.
In the grand scheme of all psoas muscles ever, I don’t think mine are extraordinarily tight, based on my experiences with some postures I will detail in future posts. I don’t think my psoas is the primary cause of my low back and pelvic pain. However, based on that same asana awareness, I do think there’s some tightness there, and I couldn’t guarantee that said tightness isn’t compounding pain from another source.
For balance, of course, I’ll also be on the lookout for psoas strengthening exercises, but this step of the core series will primarily focus on awareness, exploration, and stretching.
One way to release tension in the deeper layers of the low back muscles is through a twisting motion. Twists asymmetrically compress and lengthen the muscles on each side of the spine — so, twisting to both sides is generally a good idea. Additionally, twists are useful in determining if one side of the body is stiffer (LEFT SIDE, I AM LOOKING AT YOU) than the other. When I’m twisting at the end of my practice, I have a couple of preferences for twists.
One option involves fairly active but “open” twists — where the lower limbs aren’t “blocking” the torso in the direction of the twist. An example would be something like revolved Marichyasana (compared to, say, ardha matsyendrasana, where the torso twists in the direction of a leg folded across the body):
(Video from ExpertVillage via YouTube.)
I do more compressive twists at other points in my practice. However, as someone with no small amount of abdominal torso fat (BOOBS, I AM INCLUDING YOU), they require a lot of body-part-negotiation for me and aren’t really the best for truly winding down (pun intended). Open twists let me really focus on both spinal length and rotation without also needing to maneuver the rest of my torso along the same spiral. If what I’m looking for is a posture that soothes more than stimulates me system, an asana that accommodates my body shape is usually the way for me to go.
Another option is for me to take a more passive, yin-style twist. For folks unfamiliar with yin yoga, I tend to mean an expression of the pose that I can relax into — which is maybe not the deepest twist I can take ever — and hold for a longer period of time. (For folks familiar with yin yoga, I realize that is very simplified. But for my purpose here and now, I think it’s enough.) When twisting, my favorite way to do this is via a reclining twist, on account of most poses are easier to hold for a long time when the floor is doing a lot of the support work:
(Video from ExpertVillage via YouTube.)
For me, the most potent component of a truly restorative twist is time. Granted, it’s an element that often eludes me in my limited daily asana practices. But when I can work it in, a supine twist of 5-ish minutes on each side does wonders for my lower thoracic and upper lumbar spine (the area where I tend to build up the most tension from sitting and other day-to-day physical stresses). I suppose I should insert some pithy comment about making time for self-care, but in truth — It is late; I am too tired. And I have already worn myself too thin this week.
(Lucille Clifton reading her poem “homage to my hips.” Found via YouTube. Text available here at Poem Hunter.)
These hips are full of scar tissue.
They need movement to
keep from seizing up.
They don’t tolerate being told to
stay still. These hips
hold my tension and trauma.
They don’t like to let it go.
These hips have nerve damage.
They don’t always go where I want them to go
or do what I want them to do.
These hips are capricious hips.
These hips are caustic hips.
I have known them
to burn me from inside and
drop me in my tracks.
For yogis looking to modify their chaturanga as they’re building upper body or core strength, I know of two main variations: using a wall and dropping the knees.
Chaturanga at the wall basically involves rotating the pose 90 degrees. Instead of lowering from plank down toward the ground, one would move oneself sideways toward a wall, sort of like this:
Chaturanga at the wall changes the body’s relationship to gravity. Here, while the core and shoulder muscles are definitely engaged, they’re not working as hard to actually support the body. This can be useful for building up strength or for exploring alignment in the pose. For instance, I use chaturanga at the wall to really let myself look at my upper body: to watch whether I’m sliding my elbows back out of alignment or whether I’m dropping my shoulders below my elbows. When I’m not working against gravity, I can easily correct if I move too far, and I can also hang out in the correct alignment for a while to give my body and brain a chance to remember what “right” feels like.
I find using the wall very informative for focusing on chaturanga in isolation. Unfortunately, it’s not so practical in the context of a traditional sun salutation. For that, lowering the knees is probably a handier alternative:
(Video from Yogatic via YouTube.)
Effectively, placing the knees on the floor changes the amount and distribution of the weight the shoulder and core muscles need to support. Placing the knees directly under the hips maximizes the weight held by the lower body (and/or the floor) while sliding the knees back gradually moves more of that effort to the core muscles.
Chaturanga variations are important, first and foremost, for safety. It’s no fun injuring a joint on account of asking too much of muscles before they’re ready. And just like every chaturanga expression isn’t right for every yogi, neither is a single expression right for every sun salutation. For instance, in my practice, I like to start with me knees down until I’m sure that I’m warmed up and pain free on any given day. And I’ll only stay with the knees up version of the pose as long as it’s enjoyable for me. If I’m saving my upper body strength for something like arm balancing later, it makes sense to me to put my knees down for chaturanga earlier and more often.
See? I have not forgotten about core stuff, I promise. I think it’s partly, now that I’m reaccustomed to writing (things other than hall passes) on a regular basis, it’s easier for me to branch off onto additional topics. Which is likely a good thing, as long as I can follow through on other strands I’ve started.
In terms of strands, this is a continuation of the core series, with a current focus on the multifidus muscle group, one of the deepest layers of low back muscles. This group of muscles co-contracts with the transverse abdominals in order to stabilize the spine prior to limb movement — limb movement like bending the elbows while pressing back through the heels to lower from plank into chaturanga.
I know I originally said I was going to look at plank variations — and I fully intend to do so in a future post — but then I thought about it. While plank is a standard in a lot of power and vinyasa yoga sequences, the variations I’m thinking about are far less common. Chaturanga, on the other hand, follows high plank on a regular basis, so I probably should discuss how core strength and spinal stability work in this pose.
Like plank, in chaturanga, the core muscles are working against gravity to hold the body in a straight line. Unlike plank, chaturanga can be more difficult — particularly on the upper body — because it doesn’t involve stacking the joints of the wrists, elbows, and shoulders. Additionally, while plank is generally held as a still pose, in practice, chaturanga often involves a controlled lowering into the pose as well as the final position itself.
I’d like to say that when I first started practicing chaturanga, I encountered some uncomfortable joint problems, but that is a lie. When I first started practicing chaturanga, I didn’t have either the upper body or core strength to do it, so I modified with my knees on the ground. After that — when I started gradually incorporating straight line chaturangas into my practice — then I encountered some uncomfortable joint problems. Essentially, my alignment was off, taking the work of the pose out of my muscles and placing it into the joints of my shoulders and wrists.
Sadie Nardini explains the physics better than I can:
To be honest, I was never concerned about the “scooch of shame.” I did, however, appreciate the realization that if the muscles start to get sore, this can be a good thing since it implies strengthening — but if the joints start to get sore, this suggests they’re taking the strain my muscles should be bearing — particularly because this can be applied beyond chaturanga.
Also, FYI — When I was relearning the chaturanga alignment, I did alter my vinyasas for quite a while (maybe 3 months of almost daily practice) while I was exploring this new positioning. Not only did I not lower as far — as Sadie’s video mentioned — but I also stopped jumping back into chaturanga and started stepping back into it again, so I could lower with more awareness and control. It was a good lesson in learning that the “flashiest” version of a pose — or the expression that requires the most strength/flexibility/whatever — is not necessarily the version that deepens the mental or subtle aspects of my practice.
I do not claim that the shape I create is a “textbook” version of chaturanga or one that should be imitated by others. But I can now show you what a fluid, safe, and comfortable (well, the muscles get tired toward the end of my practice, but not the joints) chaturanga looks like on me:
I realize that it looks like I’m lowering my shoulders below my elbows, so that my elbows are going past 90 degrees. I can’t tell if this is due to camera angle (which is not parallel to my body or mat) or because this is what’s actually happening. What I can say is that I practiced for about 90 minutes the day I filmed this — and have continued to practice in this manner for a couple of months afterward — while feeling zero chaturanga stress on either my shoulders or wrists.
Still feel plenty of work in my biceps, thighs, and core though. Speaking of which: for folks who are wanting chaturanga modifications, I will be addressing that next. And I don’t just mean “next time I talk about core again.” I mean the very next time I post.
