[title subtitle=”story: Doug Kelley | images: Jeromy Price”][/title]
“OK, Miles, let’s start.”
Terri Hargrove sits down on a thin blue foam mat and folds her legs into a classic yoga pose. Next to her, thirteen-year-old Miles Udouj drops to his own mat. They are on the floor of the living room at his parent’s home in Fort Smith. Mom Tina is on her mat to just follow along, or, to be more correct, to help lead. They are ready for Miles’ yoga lesson.
“Legs crossed,” Terri says. She is twenty-seven, and sits with the impeccable posture common among yoga instructors. Miles, wearing a purple t-shirt and black shorts, is tall and teen-age awkward, plus some, but he mirrors Terri’s actions, obediently folding his legs under him. He faces Terri, his blue eyes showing anticipation.
It is not a typical yoga studio, and not a typical yoga lesson. This class, with an attendance of one, is just for Miles.
Miles is autistic. Basic communication, common social graces, and ordinary day-to-day activities are challenges for him. His parents see the yoga exercises as a way, as Tina puts it, to “smooth out” his sometimes frenetic actions, his reactions and, even his thoughts.
He was diagnosed before he was three, and over the ten years since, Tina and dad Gary tried several things in hopes of helping his symptoms, such as trying a gluten free and then a dairy free diet. Any improvement was minimal.
Then, at a class Terri teaches at Creekmore Park’s Community Center, Tina learned Terri had worked with special needs youth at Ramsey Junior High School. Ever hopeful, Tina wondered if yoga might be beneficial to Miles. So now they spend thirty minutes one afternoon a week – “promptly at 4:30,” says Terri, “as schedule is very important to him,” – letting Miles, through motion, breathing, and relaxation, learn more about himself.
They begin, as do all of Terri’s lessons, simply, with legs crossed under them, doing easy stretches. She and Miles rotate their necks, rolling their heads, stretching arms up and then out, then legs straight out. Throughout, Terri coaches breathing, accenting her inhales and exhales, the deep breaths in and out as important to the mind as the movements are to the body.
After a few minutes, she says, “OK, one leg long, one leg in,” and she extends one leg straight out in front of her, leaving the other folded beneath her. Miles follows Terri’s example. They stretch their arms out toward their toes, even though his leg does not lie as straight, and his fingers cannot reach as far as Terri can with her practiced, fluid body. “That’s good,” Terri says, and after a minute or so they switch legs.
One by one, they go through a litany of exercises. Occasionally, Terri, or sometimes Mom, reaches over to help Miles raise his arms high to stretch his abdomen, or help him twist just so. At every step, every move, Terri emphasizes the deep, steady breathing. “Breathe in,” and then, after a pause, the next movement is accompanied by a “Breathe out,” encouraging Miles to copy her.
When she says, “All right, let’s make a table,” he grins and dutifully supports himself on his hands and feet, raising his midsection, stomach up, to a flat, horizontal position. Terri has him hold the pose, praising his form, his table, and Miles laughs gleefully at the incongruity of the pose, at his success.
Terri normally has a certain order for the various movements, all part of the blending of mind and body, but when working with Miles she adapts her workouts to whatever seems right for the moment.
“We do them,” she says, “in the order Miles seems ready to do them.”
Her tone of voice, too, is different. At her adult classes, she speaks in soft, soothing, tones befitting the peaceful music playing in the background. With Miles there is no music, and while her voice is still calm and soothing, it is also strong and direct, the tone a parent might use when wanting a child to listen.
Terri has only recently begun devoting herself full time to the practice of yoga, having had other, more “mainstream” jobs, including a several year stretch as a retail purchasing manager. Though all along, she saw herself going in another direction, one more personally meaningful, and gradually she became more and more involved with the art of yoga. She found it suiting her sensibilities, a fit with her all-around outlook on life.
Finally, she went to the Sivananda Ashram school of yoga, in Nassau, Bahamas, to become a Certified Yoga Alliance Teacher. While an island paradise may seem an odd place to go for emphasis on one’s inner self, the immersion in the methods and the spirit of yoga proved to Terri that she had found her true calling.
“I don’t make nearly as much money now,” she says, “but I don’t need much. I live fairly simply. I mean, I still go out and do things, out to eat, out with friends, but I just started thinking, why stay in a job I don’t like just so I can buy stuff I don’t need?”
Terri, having always been confident in herself, feels good about where she is now, good about what she is doing. She is especially excited about her work with Miles.
Tina Udouj clearly feels the same. “It seems to help,” she will say after the lesson, after Miles jumps off to some other thing, to his computer games, to YouTube on his iPad, to playing outside. “It helps with his behavior, and he communicates better. It helps him self regulate. Smoothes him out. And he seems to be more aware of his body, of its motions. We have noticed, since he started the lessons with Terri, he understands things better, knows more of what he needs to do. Not just with the yoga, but in everything.
“He also participates in other activities through an organization called Developmental Wings, like horseback riding and bowling, which he really enjoys, but I can’t say enough about the yoga. What Terri does is great, and I hope that she is able to reach out to others with similar needs. She wants to help, and we think she does.”
Meanwhile, the afternoon lesson is finishing up. After some cool down exercises, a mental preparation to go back to the rest of the world, Terri turns to face Miles, and he faces her, knees almost touching. His eyes glow. Terri places her hands prayerfully together, fingers and palms touching. Miles does the same, and follows along as Terri says the valediction, “Namasté.” My soul recognizes your soul. We are the same. We are one.
“Namasté,” Miles says in return.
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Terri can be reached at 479.459.2187, or visit her website at relaxinfortsmith.com
