LIFE LESSONS

My 80-Year-Old Yoga Teacher is Kicking My Ass

Intergenerational friendships continue to bless my life

No-longer-here from Pixabay

I’m on one leg, hovering above my yoga mat like a drunk flamingo grimacing after stepping in some riverbed muck. My heart rate is up. Sweat drips from my forehead and hits my orange mat below, emitting a sound not unlike rain on a tin roof.

Whose idea was this, anyway?

I’d said yes to humor her. Not to have my self-image smacked down with a vengeance. Come on, I participated in many power yoga classes in my 30s and 40s, so I figured (though now in my 50s), it would all just come back easily, right? Like riding a bike.

Instead my body quakes, my hamstrings screaming, What the hell do you think you’re doing? Some warning would’ve been appreciated!!

I look up and, oh no, Poppy is already talking me through the next warrior position in our private yoga morning. How does she have such balance? I’m proud of myself for returning to the practice, yes, but my brain is decidedly not practicing zen. It’s much too focused on one inescapable fact.

An 80-year-old named Poppy is kicking my ass.

I met her at choral rehearsal. She joined in January, while I had joined only a few months earlier in October — a decision which has since paid so many wonderful, life-enhancing dividends. New friends. Moments of challenge and joy. I’m humming tunes and singing around the house again. How had I gone almost 20 years not singing?

I reside near Palm Springs, California. The population in general skews “older” due to the retirement-lifestyle communities, and it’s the same with the chorus. Most members are deep into retirement and well over 65 or 70, but the collective sound they make is amazing. Our oldest member is 85 and at 52, I’m probably the third-youngest.

So when Poppy arrived with all her drive and vitality I pegged her as maybe the fourth or fifth-youngest. I’m betting she’s a healthy 62 or so, I thought, noting her spaghetti-strap sundress and tight skin.

About a month later, Roddy waved me over into a corner during break time at rehearsal. “You know Poppy, right?” I nodded. “Ted was talking to her as we arrived. Get this, she told him her birthday is next week… and she’s turning eighty!”

Roddy watched as my mouth hit the floor, as expected. “I know, right?” he said. “I can’t believe my eyes.”

“And that’s not a plastic surgery kind of 80,” I remarked. “That’s just vital and energetic 80!” As mentioned, I pegged her for early 60s, if a day. Turns out, I was 18 years off. My own mother just turned 80 and though active and sharp mentally, she couldn’t do a leg-lift to save her life.

Soon I learned that my friend and fellow chorus member Nate was doing one-on-one free yoga sessions with Poppy in her living room. Yes, Nate, age 40 and half her age, is bonding with Poppy over downward dogs.

“Do you know how expensive one-on-one yoga classes can be?” Nate cried. “I offered to pay occasionally but she insisted she’s going to do yoga every day anyway, so why not have a friend over to motivate her?”

I wanted in on that.

One pointed yoga question to Poppy during rehearsal and the invitation came: “You know, Joe, I don’t let just anyone into my space, into my home, but your energy is right and I trust you. Why don’t you come once a week and keep me company while I do yoga? It’ll be accountability for me.”

And so, here I am now, legs quaking, heart racing and questioning my foolhardiness. It’s actually been wonderful — a great challenge and a chance to step back into the practice without group-class dynamics or worries about exorbitant fees.

I seem to be on a roll at attracting wonderful, soul-opening opportunities into my life these days. All it takes is the fortitude to say yes when it arrives and face off against any old naysayer voices in the head. Day after day, this new practice of feeling the fear and going for something anyway has been a splash of water in the face — a reminder of how life can be if you allow it.

In under three weeks I’ve learned some of Poppy’s history.

“I was always considered weak and sickly as a child. By age 40, doctors were telling me to expect an organ transplant and years of recovery and perhaps an early grave. I looked them in the eye, said, ‘Nope, screw you,’ did my own research, became vegan, changed my lifestyle and now ha, I’m turning 80 and still here, so ha ha to them!”

So no, apparently it isn’t just genetics. It’s also dogged determination.

“The vocal chords are also a muscle and I need to sing every day in order to keep my voice. I have a medical muscle condition which requires me to exercise five days a week. There is no choice in the matter. So this yoga practice has kept me mentally on target and gives me a challenge every single day. It never gets easier, but it’s brought me to where I am.”

Damn. Most of us are doing yoga to flatten a tummy or to quiet the mind, and meanwhile Poppy’s arriving to the mat each day to stop from wasting away. And obviously succeeding, as she steps into normal life with more presence and energy than most folks in their 50s and 60s.

Oh how our minds can be so ageist. I consider myself extremely open-minded and more sensitive than most when it comes to the issue. I’ve always resonated with older individuals and I volunteer to call four senior gentlemen every other week as a way to fight off social isolation. My partner, the love of my life, is twenty years older than me and we’ve shared 18 years of aging together.

And yet, when I first walked into chorus rehearsal and saw the ages of the group, my first thought was, “Oh, that’s cute. Probably not for me, but I’m glad they’re still giving it a go.” Then they opened their mouths to sing and I had my preconceptions handed back to me on a platter.

We all have a specific sort of image that pops into our heads, unfortunately, when we hear someone is 80 years old. It’s probably always been that way. In fact, it was much worse before, with most only picturing folks rotting away in nursing homes or dressing like Sophia Petrillo on The Golden Girls.

But guess what? We all had very strong opinions of what it meant to be a 50-year-old or 60-year-old too! And now here we are, many of us, living through those years ourselves and realizing how we may’ve misjudged the interior lives of relatives and friends who came before us and lived through these “approaching-old-age” years.

In truth, maybe nowadays it’s more realistic to be surprised if a kick-ass yoga teacher is in her nineties!

I’m here to tell you, these intergenerational friendships are a gift. Too many of us stay in our little categories. No, seek these connections out if you can. You’ll learn what to do and also what not to do or what not to ignore when it comes to the mysteries of aging. (“Start paying for long-term-care insurance now, in your 50s!” one practical senior friend loves to say).

There is so much to be mined; there is such fertile soil there.

I assure you, both parties experience the benefits.

That’s why you can catch me every Friday morning in an older Baby Boomer’s living room, stretching, loosening up, with muscles spasming and the brain internally cursing. But mostly, I’m observing.

I’m taking notes on the kind of 80-year-old one can only hope to be.

©2026 Joe Guay | All Rights Reserved

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