Yoga in the City

(May 27, 2011) Yesterday was Jane’s first day of a 30-day journey into the realm of hot yoga. When she registered for her first class, she was sure she’d get a good workout and would have something to show for it at the end of the 30 days. But little did she know that she just might come to find more than a smaller pant size.

Upon entering the class, Jane was met with an instructor whose energy complemented the energy of every individual’s in the room. And the first thing she thought as she introduced herself to the new encounter was, “I am going to pass out.” The instructor began class with the Jay-Z song, “New York.” “In light of recent events,” the instructor explained, “today we celebrate New York.”

As Jane moved through the initial vinyasa sequence, the instructor punctuated each pose with one word that defined “Why We Love New York.” Down dog — energy. Plank – noise. Chaturanga – culture. Up Dog – food. Warrior one – opportunity. Warrior two – dirt. And as she moved within her flow, Jane noticed that she wasn’t keeping up with the others in the room. Then she noticed that no one was keeping up with anyone, each person was set to his or her own pace — performing his or her own vinyasa flow set to the same time.

At times, she would lock into a position with someone diagonal to her, or in front of her. And after quickly locking in together, the two would just as rapidly unfold into another pose and become once again out of synch. The instructor would blurt statements like “Just do it, or don’t do it. You have a choice to make. What’s your experience today going to be?”

In being connected through disconnection, the continuum of energy became rhythmic in only the way a yoga class can make sense of it. As the instructor led the class into an inversion, uncontrollable streams of sweat shot up Jane’s nose like a bad swimmer making her way into the deep end.

“When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.” With Jane being temporarily blinded by the sweat pouring into her eyes, she figured she’d just take her instructor’s word for it. “You think you’re suffering?” the instructor continued, “I’ve been chewing the same piece of gum since 3 p.m.” As Jane’s body shook while she counted down the seconds of holding the half moon pose, she listened as the instructor prodded, “Do it. Because your body can.”

The class ended with all of the students lying in corpse pose while sirens squealing and horns honking behaved as the seam that wove together the city’s makeup outside the studio walls. As Jane lie there, she realized that all those in the room with her loved the same things that she loved about New York. The “New Yorker,” a prototype of an individual that existed upon the platform of a conviction rather than on the wing of an idea, actually relegated New York for the same reasons as Jane: for the 24- hour food delivery and the noise.

Tears began to stream down Jane’s sweaty face as she lie there, feeling something click within her. The instructor beckoned the class to let go of whatever it was that they were holding onto. She told them that if they left the class with the same thing they came in with, well, then she felt bad for them.

Before the class was dismissed, everyone joined in unity as they exerted a final, lengthy OM — an OM that Jane was too bashful to let out in its entirety. She slightly let it out of her mouth as she participated in listening to the others rather than let her own innards go. The thing is, in New York, everyone hears you and isn’t listening at the very same time.