About two years ago, I swore myself (or at least tried) from aspartame after a friend’s neurologist recommended she steer clear of it. It’s been hard. It’s in so many fake foods I love: Diet Coke, Crystal Light, sugar-free butterscotch JELL-O. Full disclosure: I allow myself at least one dose a month. It usually comes in the form of a Diet Coke.
It sounds so easy when yoga teachers tell you to relax into Savasana, or corpse, the final resting pose that can stretch five to fifteen minutes. Physically, it is: You lie on your back, eyes closed and palms up with your arms and legs slightly spread and feet falling apart.
Basically, it feels like doing nothing.
Perhaps that’s why it can be so freaking hard.
Teachers tell you to imagine the body melting into the ground, calm the mind or look into the third eye, which is problematic if you only believe you have two. Instead things like -- Maybe I’ll finish in time for The Office or Is it weird to eat popcorn and cheese for dinner? or [Insert work/relationship problem here] -- popped into my mind. I sneezed. My nose itched. I swayed my feet to the chants that were supposed to be filling me up with peace. It took me four years of practice to stop thinking – Are we done yet?
My quest for accessible and affordable yoga led me to the Saturday community class at Miami Life Center, 736 Sixth Street, in South Beach. The one-hour class at 12:30 p.m. is $5 and billed as an intro to yoga class. Yoga-curious friends have told me they'd like to find a non-intimidating space where they can get comfortable with their bodies as they work though postures.
I read the description on the studio's site: "If you're new to yoga and think you're not strong enough or flexible, start here." It sounded just right for newbies. On my walk to the studio, I thought with my ego. Practicing yoga for more than five years, I presumed the teacher would notice my more advanced level and I'd have to fess up that I was there for a blog.
Not so. Angelique taught the class that was basic ashtanga, an intense series of postures. A gentle and playful teacher, she guided us, step-by-step. Most of the seven students had a degree of fitness and looked like they had done yoga before. More than half the class went into full backbends. Angelique corrected my postures. I was humbled, sweaty and hot.
Though I can't recommend this class to absolute beginners, I would definitely suggest it to more intermediate beginners who'd like to move their practice into ashtanga. It was a reminder that being "good" is relative. There's nothing wrong with feeling like a beginner.
Yogis are increasingly finding creative ways to move their practices from their mats into their communities. One stellar example in the Magic City is It's Yoga Miami, a 10 a.m. class offered Saturdays in Kennedy Park off South Bayshore Drive near Kirk Street in Coconut Grove. The class is free but a $10 donation is suggested.
The money goes to Camillus Health Concern, which runs Camillus House, the homeless shelter and service center for low-income residents.Started in November 2007, the project began with the vision to attract yoga newbies and project balance and unity in South Florida -- utterly admirable if unattainable goals. Since its start, the classes have attracted more than 400 yoga newcomers in its 800-plus participants. More than $5,000 has been raised in that time.
Such goodwill actions reveal yoga's potential to the larger community. It shows that practicing is not just about stretching and toning to complement a cardio workout but has the potential to reach beyond the sun salutations one does that day. When's the last time running on a treadmill or lifting weights has achieved that?
For more information on the classes, call 786-417-4450 or email vicmunoz@globalwealth.com or info@luanahervier.com.ar.
Birds chirp and the homeless snore. It’s 7 o’clock at the 3rd Street lifeguard stand on South Beach one recent morning. The sand is still strewn with remnants of the night before. At this spot, a daily yoga class is organized by Synergy Center. It’s a cheapo's alternative -- only $5 bucks -- in a world of $17 classes.
There’s this romantic notion that practicing amidst waves and sun can usher one to a deeper peace. So far, I’m just sleepy. I loiter near a man shaving under an umbrella. Ten minutes after 7 o'clock, I spy another loiterer. It's Peter, a practitioner for fifteen years, wearing swim trunks and shades. He's a regular. "This is one of my favorite things about living here."
He unrolls his beach towel. I lay on my mat and unsuccessfully ignore the lump of sand wedged in my back. His enthusiasm is not infectious. A teacher never shows. (This is particularly peeving because I called the day before.)
A middle-aged blonde in hot pink pants approaches and offers to teach. I’m skeptical and consider whether her teaching "certification" came from Rodney Yee DVDs she memorized from Target. It’s too early to protest. She guides us into a sliver of shade. I move my mat to cleanest, not-so-clean spot between a shredded bag and a tampon. Her instruction is basic but solid with sun salutations, hip openers and twists and I'm grateful.
Sand plastered to my legs distracts me from breathing. My spine feels off-kilter in downward dog. The sun makes me squint. My focal point during tree pose is a stray bottle cap. For a brief moment, I become yogic, and feel at peace under the blue sky. Then, a jack hammer pounds. Romantic notions are often broken by dirtier realties. Perhaps that's my lesson for this day.
