(and it’s nothing to do with sun salutations or hip openers)**
If you’ve been following along for a while, you’ll know that last week I completed a charity trek in the Sahara Desert. And yes… I promise I will stop talking about it eventually. Maybe.;) But before I do, I wanted to share something that surprised me.
When people hear “Sahara trek,” especially in my classes, they assume yoga helped mainly on the physical side — keeping my hips open, preventing tightness, helping with recovery. And while I definitely did the odd cat stretch or reclined pigeon after a very long day, that was honestly the tiniest part.
The real support from yoga came from the mental practices — the quieter teachings that don’t get mentioned as often in the West. And it wasn’t until I was out there, walking hour after hour across sand and silence, that I realised just how much those practices have settled into the way I move through the world.
The reality of a completely new environment
The desert was everything you’d imagine: hot, sandy, vast, and strangely peaceful. The landscape was so open it almost rearranged my sense of scale. My legs and feet held up surprisingly well, and once I settled into the rhythm, so did my mind.
But there were definitely moments — particularly in the first couple of nights — that were uncomfortable. I didn’t sleep well. The environment was completely unfamiliar. We had very little control over our routine. And because water had to be rationed, everything felt stripped back to the essentials.
Fifteen years ago, I know this would have felt overwhelming. I probably would have panicked about being tired, or fixated on the lack of control, or spun myself into stories about how the next day would be unmanageable.
This time, though, something different happened.
Not because I’ve become some enlightened being – but because over the years, yoga has quietly changed how I meet discomfort.
Learning to accept what is
One of the biggest things yoga has taught me over the years is how to soften around what’s actually happening, rather than trying to resist it or mentally rewrite it.
So when sleep didn’t come, instead of spiralling into frustration or imagining how awful the next day would be, I just… let it be what it was.
I breathed.
I moved a little. I distracted myself with an audiobook to pass the hours.
I reminded myself that being tired isn’t the end of the world.
That shift — from “this shouldn’t be happening” to “this is happening,” — changed the whole experience.
Noticing my mind, rather than getting caught in it
Long stretches of walking gave me a lot of time with my mind. And, as minds tend to do, mine wanted to plan, worry, analyse, or narrate things in great detail.
But yoga has taught me to notice these patterns without falling into them. So when I caught myself spiralling off, I could gently bring my attention back to my breath, or to the rhythm of my steps, or to the changing light on the sand.
It wasn’t about being perfectly serene. It was about being aware and giving the mind something to do.
The power of just keeping going.
Another thing that helped enormously was a sense of steady, sustainable effort — the kind we cultivate in practice when we stay with a pose without forcing or collapsing.
There were moments when the heat made everything feel slower. When every step in deep sand felt like twice the work. But instead of pushing hard or giving up, I found myself settling into a simple rhythm: next step, next step, next step… to the point where I was actually surprised it was over.
And, at times when my head felt like it would explode with the heat, my system would gently re-regulate itself and that sensation would pass. The body is a magical thing and yoga has given me faith that I could hold the big sensations rather than panicking about them.
Letting go of control
As a recovering control freak, one of the unexpected gifts of the trek was realising how little I needed to be in charge. Out there, I couldn’t control the pace, the terrain, the temperature, or the schedule — and once you’ve accepted that (instead of resisting) there was something incredibly settling about that.
We had wonderful guides who knew exactly what they were doing. My job was simply to follow, walk, drink water, and be present.
Letting go of control felt like setting down a very heavy bag I didn’t realise I’d been carrying.
The unexpected gift: space
What I absolutely didn’t expect was how spacious everything felt. The horizon stretched in every direction. The daily routine was wonderfully simple. The silence was rich and grounding.
At home life often feels compressed, full, noisy and weather-dependent — the openness of the desert at times felt like a big exhale as each day was stripped back to its essentials: Wake. Eat. Walk. Eat. Walk. Rest.
This simplicity created a kind of mental space that felt like a real holiday.
Alongside the challenge, there was also so much joy: the stillness of sunrise, the colour of the sky at dusk, the quiet conversations, the belly laughs when everything was a bit ridiculous. Humans adapt so quickly — and sometimes we surprise ourselves along the way.
What I brought home
Now don’t get me wrong — I wasn’t some Zen master out there. There were definite moments of frustration, including the occasional thought like “will this cramped, hot bus ride ever end?!” But the real shift was in what I did with those thoughts. And that made all the difference.
This isn’t a ‘go me’ story. If anything, it’s the first time I’ve really noticed how far I’ve come — because the trek reminded me how deeply the quieter parts of yoga shape the way we move through the world.
Breath.
Awareness.
Acceptance.
Steady effort.
Letting go.
These were the things that travelled with me across the sand — not flexibility, not physical prowess, but the practices that weave into daily life quietly and steadily, creating just a little more space in difficult moments. In the West we mostly see yoga as just an exercise class – this has been such a reminder that it is SO much more, and I find so much value in practising.
Thanks for letting me share. (And I promise I’ll stop banging on about it now!)
With love, Claire xx
Ps. All of this was in aid of the incredible Overgate Hospice and it would be remiss of me not to share my fundraising page one final time: https://justgiving.com/page/claire-wilson-binks Thank you x
Claire WB - Mindful Movement 
Leave a comment