Back in the U.S., I never really could get into yoga. In New York, it seemed more the realm of snooty former sorority girls, clad in designer leggings and drinking designer organic iced tea in carefully constructed environments designed to feel natural, pristine, calming, and exclusive. The handful of classes I tried felt competitive and conspicuous. You could feel each participant trying to outdo the others with the length of their reach, the balance of their poses, the force of their inner peace, the trendiness of their Lulu Lemons.
But there's a free yoga class in Carolina Park on Saturdays, and lately on most Saturday mornings I seem to end up there. This yoga class is a different story. This is the yoga of the people.
In this haphazard crew, you might be doing your sun salutations next to middle-aged moms or uncle-types wearing track suits or jeans or a soccer jersey, or shorts that may also be swim trunks. Some people bring mats to be on, some bring beach towels, some just pop a squat barefoot in the grass.
The class is located in one of the prettiest of lush, shady spots in the park, but at the end of the day, it's still a public park. One time a bunch of people dressed as ninjas swarmed around the nearby pagoda and began doing slow-motion battle moves with big long ninja sticks, I guess maybe they're filming a ninja movie? Another time there was a thumping reggaeton beat the whole time -- DOOSH-a-doosh-doosh, DOOSH-a-doosh-doosh -- from a nearby festival in the park. Yet another time a dog who had escaped his leash came around sniffing our feet and butts and crotches.
Butt-sniffing ninja warrior reggaeton yoga, that's more my style. I wonder if they have that in New York.
It is also comforting to me that in spite of my novice status, that I am not the worst one in this class. There are always people more mystified than I by the pretzel-like postures we're supposed to take on, and when we do core-strengthening type exercises, there are always people who give up before I do, or whose muscles are trembling even worse than mine. One time there was an old guy next to me who would make these noises like Ooooh or aaaahhh or eeeeeehhh with every new pose, as if he were maybe passing some painful gas or getting some dislocated joints re-set, or lowering himself into a bath that was several degrees too hot. It was funny and distracting.
The two instructors are welcoming and open and gentle with their corrections and encouragement, and they're matter-of-fact about what we're trying to accomplish and why. And I'm also learning lots of useful Spanish phrases, like the lift up your heels and tighten your glutes...
Well I was going to tell you about a moment of clarity during my last class, but I ended up telling you about the class's pleasing idiosyncrasies instead. I'll save clarity for another day.
