Ouch. I'm cranky and I think I pulled a butt muscle. Last week, while walking the dog, I happened upon a yoga studio that recently opened in the neighborhood. A cursory glance revealed most classes run a steep $20 per session, with one student-led class on Saturday for a mere $5. In desperate need of a decent stretch, I decided to give the student class a shot.
Now, I'm a strong believer that all yoga is inherently good - but there is one school of thought that really tries my patience - that is the Iyengar school; this particular studio's specialty, of course. I have several bones to pick with B.K.S. Iyengar - the first of which is the school's (self-determined) exclusive right to claim "certification" for its yoga instructors. Surely, the yogis of ancient India would smirk at this notion. In my humble opinion, this is a scam. Paying money to the Iyengar franchise makes you no more or less qualified to teach yoga than simply honing the craft on your own time. Secondly, I dislike Iyengar for it's heavy reliance on props. Surely, the greatest yogis didn't buy spongy bricks, chairs, ropes, or any number of contraptions to master their practice - they barely even wore clothes.
But even still, I entered the class with an open mind. I was hoping that, perhaps, the classes I had attended before were just bad apples. Upon entering the room, however, my complaints were immediately validated. I staked out my little corner, and sat in lotus pose with the rest of the class. As soon as I began to quiet my mind, I was interrupted by the instructor who announced loudly, "Excuse me. You may find it helpful to sit on some blankets." I looked around and noticed that, indeed, everyone else had their buttocks elevated. I said, "Do I have to?" This came out much snottier than I had intended - but the instructor continued unphased, "Ummm..well, everyone else is." I didn't press the issue - I didn't mention what would happen if everyone else decided to jump off a bridge, but already, I knew this was going to be a rough session.
Yoga, when practiced with grace and mastery, is not unlike a dance. One moves rhythmically with the breath, in continuous motion. It is a dance that builds strength, flexibility, self-discipline, and beauty. If yoga had an awkward first kiss with the boy next door, that would be the class I attended yesterday. Stop and start. Stop and start. Fumble. Sweat. Like this? Am I doing it right? Fumble. Sweat.
It was a clusterfuck of ineptitude. Student teacher on fumbling beginner. Every few poses there was a lady in the class who would stop - complain about some ailment loudly to the rest of us - then demand more blankets or spongy things to prop her ankle or wrist or whatever it was that was bothering her. The instructor, of course, obliged her by stopping the class and procuring said item. Instead of, I don't know, telling her to breath into the pain and to let her body do the healing work itself. This is yoga. Offering spongy crutches to folks that disrupt the whole class defies the very purpose of the practice - which is to promote the flexibility to remain in seated meditation for long periods.
Despite all the whining, I am happy to report that I am pleasantly sore today and my body is reporting that what we did yesterday in between folding chairs and putting ropes away, was in fact, work. Tomorrow I have my sights set on a new studio, this one is an unfortunate commute from the house, but is running a $30 for 30 days special. Also, it is not an Iyengar studio. However, complaining about the high cost of yoga classes may be the next frontier for discussion.
