Do you remember the first time you started breathing? Like actually paying attention to how you breathe?
June 15th, 1989 at 5:05am eastern was when I took my first breath. Yet, it wasn’t the first time I acknowledged it. The first time I actually paid attention to my breathing was the day I took my first yoga class. I bet you’re wondering what brought me to yoga right? A young Puerto Rican kid from the Bronx doing yoga sounds bizarre if you’re from my side of town but anyone who knows me knows the type of crazy shit I get myself into. I received a job opportunity to work at a yoga studio on the upper east side. Beautiful facility with some of the best instructors NYC had to offer. I mean, it is the upper east side so you can imagine how prestigious this place was. That was the beginning of a transition in my life I didn’t know I was preparing for and fortunately for me I was at the right place at the right time because my life was going to change forever.
Let’s first talk about my experience during my time working at the studio. I started off with the beginners vinyasa flow and immediately enjoyed it probably for all the wrong reasons. I was a young handsome latin kid surrounded by some attractive older women contorting our bodies in these provocative positions. That was enough for me to keep practicing but I immediately could feel how it was having a positive effect on my daily routine. Continuing and being consistent in my practice I began to change my diet and was also sleeping better. I had more energy than I could manage so I pushed myself a step further and started taking HOT yoga. This was game changing because now after a year of experience I reached new heights in my abilities and what felt like the best shape of my life up until…
My life took a turn for the worst and this was the beginning of the downward spiral I was soon to experience. I had a trip planned to Florida for what I thought would be a great two week vacation. The plan was to visit family in Tampa and then drive down to Miami for Wrestlemania XXVIII. Upon landing in Tampa, I felt a massive weight on my chest, like a ton of pressure and I did not understand why. Having difficulty breathing from the right side of my chest I tried my best to focus on breathing slowly. Gradually throughout the week this pressure would turn into sharp pains to the point I couldn’t sleep. I had to lay down in a fetal position practically on my belly just to ease the tension in my chest. I noticed when inhaling, it would feel like the air was stuck in my chest and I would have to burp to alleviate the pressure and pain. On the drive down to Miami I couldn’t take the pain anymore and was rushed to the emergency room. I still remember this experience vividly because it felt like a scene out of a horror movie. I walked down three incredibly long corridors with not a single soul in sight until I finally reached the waiting area. I could barely speak because of the pain and was hardly breathing properly. In order for me to be seen I had to fill out paperwork which to me at the time felt impossible. The pain was so severe I couldn’t remember anything, my address, my social security number, literally my mind was blank. I was frustrated because I needed help and they refused to attend to me unless I filled out that piece of paper so I said fuck it and left.
At this point I was ready to die and if this was my fate, I was going to die on my terms. For the next couple days I partied as much as I could through the pain. I danced all night, swam at the beach, drank alcohol and had a blast at Wrestlemania. After surviving two weeks of not giving a fuck it was time to go home and now the fear of death approached. All this shit started getting on a fucking plane and if the end of my time was to come, surely would be on this flight. I had to go home, fast and the worst part was I could only book connecting flights meaning I had to take two planes back! Fuck my life right? Deep slow breaths and pray for the best was all the hope I had. On both flights going home I had a middle seat and all I did the entire time was keep my eyes closed, cry and try my best to breathe. This is a testament to being protected by a higher power and having angels watch over me because on both flights I sat between women and the entire time they held my hand, caressed my arm, leg and chest and told me I was going to be alright. Four different people, complete strangers protecting me, making me feel safe, like I was going to survive this. In my mind I was as good as dead, but they kept me breathing. “Just breathe, you’re going to be ok.”
Finally landed in New York where my mother awaited at the airport prepared to rush me straight to the emergency room. After some test and bloodwork, the doctor told me I was suffering from pneumonia for the last two weeks and was shocked that I survived. I told him that practicing yoga taught me how to control my breathing through my one working lung while suffering from pneumonia in my other lung. Not being able to take a deep breath without feeling excruciating pain has been one of the worse experiences of my life. Unfortunately, this is only the beginning of my coming struggles and breathing is what will help me through it all. I learned how important it is to acknowledge my breath and try to focus on breathing through every tough situation.
In my next blog I will discuss the struggles I have dealt with, still deal with today and how breathing is helping me. Remember, no matter what you’re going through if you take a moment to breathe, you will be ok. #JustBreathe