Historically, I’ve been somewhat of a sucker for a “buzz” of nearly any variety.  I’m fortunate, however, that my desire to indulge in such activities, as well as my ability to endure the consequences, have dramatically decreased over the years.

That being said, since my initial foray into yoga, with each successive mention of this mysterious and cunningly elusive “yoga buzz”, my mind begins to wander in an attempt to surmise what pleasures such a phenomenon might bring.  Unfortunately, each supposition inevitably leads back to the same improbable conclusion involving a pool filled with puppies and an anti-gravity chamber.

I knew this notion was far from accurate, if not for any other reason but the laws of physics…

Without gravity, it would be scientifically impossible to keep puppies inside of a pool.

So on account of the short-comings of my imagination, I was left with no other option but to either, A) Convince myself that this supposed “Yoga Buzz” was a carefully crafted marketing conspiracy developed by studio owners and passed along by their minion teachers to the unsuspecting yoga community at large, designed to perpetually dangle the proverbial carrot and thus resulting in a supersaturation of absurdly wealthy yoga studio owners stretching from coast to coast….

or, B) Just keep waiting.

I chose to do both.

And it paid off, as today, Day 85… with only 5 days remaining in my 90-day challenge (technically 85 days, for all of you nitpicking, detail-oriented Type-A’s)…. I got high in yoga class.

It was both remarkable… as well as remarkably embarrassing.

On the remarkable side, the instructors (two guest teachers from Samadhi Yoga in Capitol Hill) provided the most comprehensive, balanced, well-structured, brilliantly-paced class that I have attended in the last 85 days… or ever for that matter.

While just yesterday I was convinced that my progress, especially in terms of flexibility, had plateaued weeks ago… tonight I found myself far deeper in nearly every pose than I had ever been before.  And while the class was exhausting enough to nearly render me unconscious by the end, during those few moments during savasana that I momentarily fell out of the beautiful meditative space I had risen into…

I couldn’t help but realize that I was unwittingly wearing a grin the likes of which doesn’t often make an appearance on my face without a specific, humorous impetus of some sort, like an episode of Mama’s Family, for instance.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise then, when my after-class attempts at conversation were ill-fated, to say the least.  The partnership that usually exists between my brain and my mouth was temporarily on-hold, resulting in an incoherent vocal trembling that somehow more closely resembled the frantic fight against impending tears than the simple “Thank you for a great class,” I had intended.

Oh well.  When all is said and done, I suppose a little embarrassment is a small price to pay for some intense, and completely organic, euphoria.

Who knew?

Yesterday was an amazing day.

You know when you’re dropping into a pose… a pose you’ve been struggling with day in and day out for weeks (months, years… I’m assuming), and then one day… today… you remembered a tiny adjustment that you learned long ago and had forgotten about… and with the tiniest tweak of this leg or that arm… all of a sudden, you’re floating in that pose.

That happened to me yesterday, but it wasn’t yoga.  Scratch that.  It was yoga.  It just wasn’t an asana.  I had been fighting myself… my mind in particular, for days.  Like a Bikram class (jk), each moment that went by felt like an eternity.  I had no peace, no control, and no stability.

Then, with little warning, a few ideas each from a different source, came to me within a matter of a couple hours.  These were things that I knew intuitively but had lost track of… and a couple things that I learned recently, but had simply forgotten.  The impact of these subtle adjustments wasn’t fully realized immediately, but over the course of a few hours, I was able to transform my consummate suffering into an absolute flourishing with little effort at all.

Many of the most profound lessons that I have learned have resulted similarly.  They weren’t long, drawn out processes that required study, concentration, and patience, but rather nearly instantaneous changes of perspective that, once I caught a glimpse, I simply understood where I had been going wrong, and with a relatively effortless adjustment, just like in a yoga pose, things just begin to fall into place.

Like Paul said, “You gave me the word, I finally heard.  It’s getting better all the time!”

P.S. This morning, I went to the 8-Limbs Saturday Morning Yoga in the Seattle Art Museum’s Sculpture Park.  As it turns out, I love doing yoga outdoors.  Amazing.

It’s official… One full month of daily yoga practice without a hitch…

Except the day I missed last week. However, according to the official rules and regulations as directed by the fine folks at MyYogaPractice.com, my challenge hasn’t been compromised.  According to them, the fact that I practiced twice in one day prior directly prior to (and in fact in direct correlation to) missing a day, I am excused this blight on my record… as often as once a week, if I so choose.

This was fantastic news to stumble upon. I thought I had blown it. 

Of course, I could hardly be held responsible on account of the fact that my double-day left me bedridden, so sick I was practically unrecognizable like the left side of a Sudafed before/after split-screen.

But I survived.  31 classes in 31 days.

Now, just rinse and repeat a couple of times, and baddabing! I’m enlightened.

If only it were that easy.

To be honest, though, my brain doesn’t usually respond all that well to routine, so I had anticipated that the truly difficult part of this project was actually going to be attendance.  I imagined that the writing segment would be effortless.

Quite the contrary, as it turns out. With each day that I practice, my dedication to it seems to increase exponentially.  I can hardly wait to get back in the studio the next day.  Obviously, some days are harder than others, but when it comes down to it, I don’t want to miss even a day of yoga.  Everyday, I’m noticing all the amazing and unexpected ways that my body is responding.

Naturally, I’m more flexible, more dexterous, more agile.  But I’m also calmer, happier, and more energetic.  I’m also leaner and stronger as well.

Everyday that goes by, it becomes harder and harder to imagine not practicing.  It’s absolutely becoming a part of my life.

With that said… writing about it is becoming increasingly difficult.

The more attached to yoga I become, the harder I find it to articulate my experience. The more I care about the process, the less capable I am of keeping an objective point of view.  Not only that, but I’m realizing that, to write about my experience requires a certain level of analysis.

I remember when I was traveling through Southeast Asia as a college student, throughout the 3 months I was there, I knew that the experience was changing me immeasurably, that profound lessons were being learned, and that I would be forever changed on account of that trip… but I had to wait months after my return home before I was able to deconstruct everything that had happened, everything I’d experienced.

Similarly, writing about yoga is becoming more challenging.

When this began, yoga was a subject for me to observe, an activity to critique, and an exercise with which to experiment.

It’s not so easy anymore.

Somehow, everything tangent seems inadequate and every description comes up short.

I know there’s something transcendent and inspired in there somewhere, but no matter how hard I squint, it remains out of focus just enough to make it indistinguishable.

Perhaps that’s the problem.  Maybe I’m trying too hard.

Maybe it’s time to Magic Eye this thing.

Riding high on self-congratulation for having discovered something that I’d previously believed had gone missing in my genetic makeup, discipline, I promptly canceled my upcoming trip to Oz and decided instead to put my cards on the table to see what I was truly made of.

It was Wednesday.

I had recently been informed that one of the studios on my radar, the brand new ‘Be Luminous Yoga’, is co-owed by a woman who I had a class with in college.  After getting in touch with her, I decided to drop in for a Baptiste Power Vinyasa class that she was teaching, and we had planned to catch up over lunch afterward.

Not only was I blown away by the studio, but Michel was an amazing teacher as well.  I’m learning that it’s not only important which studio you choose, but perhaps even more critical to your enjoyment of the process is which teacher you have.  Every instructor has a different process, a particular tone in which they conduct, and a unique balance contoured to his or her personal philosophy.

To me, Michel was not only both encouraging and positive, but also willing to offer constructive pointers… tiny tweaks that would take an average pose and transform it into a focused, targeted stretch where the growth and challenge were undeniable. More importantly was the balance between attention given to the body and to the mind.  In my experience so far, it seems that most classes are either too physical/fitness oriented, or too meditative and new-agey.

This was near perfection.

Anyway, after an incredible class at Be Luminous, we grabbed lunch (amazingly, the studio is directly above the best Whole Foods ever), had some great conversation, and I went home to get some work done.

Around 5:30, for what reason I’m still not sure, I started thinking about potentially squeezing in another class.  I haven’t done two in one day yet, but I knew that people do this with some frequency, and as I had just surpassed 3 weeks of straight daily practice, I thought, why not??

Circumstances sorted themselves out (as they always do) and at the last minute, my schedule opened up such that if I hurried, I could make it back downtown to Urban Yoga Spa to catch the full-length power vinyasa class at 6:45.

There’s no way I could’ve known what I was getting myself into.

Pam was a teacher with whom I was unfamiliar.  Upon first impression, as she was explaining to the first-timer what she expect from class, I thought Pam might turn out to be a little bit of a pushover.

Once again, I was wrong.

I could have sworn that we had been in there for hours.  There must have been a dozen instances when I thought, for certain, that we were about to assume our final savasana.

I’m not sure if time temporarily functioned differently while we were in that room, if upon stepping through that frosted doorway we unknowingly crossed over into some sort altered space/time continuum… but what I do know is that, had we been listening through the Steely Dan discography in chronological order in an effort to find their first song that didn’t completely suck, we’d still be in that room right now.

Admittedly, this analogy does little to illustrate how long we were in there, however, nothing could more accurately describe the agonizing discomfort I was experiencing.

With that being said, in no way was this Pam’s fault. In fact, I have every intention of going back for another dose of her power vinyasa in the very near future.  Under normal circumstances, this would have been the perfect class for those occasions when I have a hankering for a serious, hardcore workout.

But two classes in one day… proved to much for This Guy.

I woke up the next morning sick as a dog.  My body was done.  My brain… scrambled eggs.

Today, two days later, I’m about 80% recovered.  And as soon I get back to full speed… I’m going to hit Pam’s class again.

This is no ordinary yoga studio.

The best way I can describe Urban Yoga Spa is this:  Imagine your typical studio. Now imagine taking everything even slightly new-agey… anything that references eastern philosophy… even anything that screams “organic”… and get rid of them.  Now, replace all those items with sheik, contemporary furnishings.

The services reflect the decor, and the name, Urban Yoga Spa is not just a marketing ploy.  This truly is a spa.  Offering everything the modern metropolitan (wo)man might require, UYS specializes not just in yoga, but massage, waxing, manicures and pedicures, and various other services as well.

My first class here was fantastic.  Hot Hatha Hour proved challenging, but not brutal.  I loved that it was only an hour.  Sometimes an hour and a half is the perfect length, but other times, that extra half hour can just be too much.

While I am very interested in exploring some of the more meditative disciplines, there are times when all I really want is a great workout, no chanting, no singing… just a tough session of sweating, stretching, heart-thumping action… This is exactly what I got today.  It was great.

And it’s funny how far the little perks can go.  I can’t tell you how delighted I was to find that they had a basket full of complimentary locks to use, super clean showers with really quality shampoos and such, and even great music piped throughout the facility.

This is definitely a change of pace, but at least for now, I’m happy to be at the Urban Yoga Spa.

Me Being a Badass on a Horse.

In the celebrated Midwestern tradition, the pinnacle of virtually every summer from the time I was 6 years old was the two weeks that I spent swimming, horseback riding, and camping at summer camp.

Having been raised amongst these rather peculiar “camp folk” for my entire childhood, by the time I had transcended the camper experience and pushed forth out of my cocoon to find that I had emerged with the illustrious “Senior Counselor” status and title, I was well-versed in the behavioral patterns of the first-time camper.

Often only five or six years old, there is nearly always a moment in which the first-time camper (FTC) realizes that his/her parents have maliciously conspired against their own child… that the overwhelming excitement and enthusiasm displayed by the adults upon arrival were not only contrived, but specifically designed to deceive their own offspring, and that now, probably for the very first time in their young lives, the people who they had come to believe were their consummate protectors were now slyly inching backward toward the minivan with every intention of willingly leaving their screaming, shaking, drooling child to be abducted by these frighteningly upbeat and perpetually singing green-shirted strangers… “Come play with us, Danny.”

As the young are typically more susceptible to mental manipulation and trickery, the transition from belligerent, hysterical child to happy, bouncy, boisterous, beaming neophyte is usually not only quick, but relatively seamless and permanent.

In fact, the unsuspecting adolescent is often defenseless against this proselytization, and within a matter of hours, the healthy skepticism displayed by the child just prior to their first lunch will have surrendered completely, incapable of sustaining itself amidst the incessant singing in rounds and seemingly endless supply of chicken nuggets and milkshakes.

By the time the parents show up to collect their youngster, the irrepressible frenzy that their departure had created just two weeks ago is dwarfed by the delirious rage and tempestuous gnashing of teeth displayed when trying to remove the child from the camp premises.

Though slightly less pronounced, my exodus from the Bikram studio was similar in nature.

It took several days to surrender to the demands of such an extreme environment, but by the time I had completed my third consecutive day of practice, my body had become a worthy vessel to navigate the treacherous terrain of a Bikram class.

I found myself inexplicably looking forward to practice, ready to put both my mind and my body to the test once again… to see if I could not only survive another 90-minute session, but thrive.

And thrive I did.

On my sixth day in the sweat lodge, I found my limbs bending and conforming to my every whim. Had I asked them to, I’m quite certain that my legs would have obliged to swing up and around the back of my head, thrilled by the opportunity to help me assume the shape of my bygone hero, Gumby.

And on the 7th day, I wept… On the inside, anyway…  And not so much weep as sigh.  But it was, without a doubt, a sigh of disappointment and grief.

I wasn’t ready to leave.  Had my parents been there to pick me up, I surely would’ve resisted. Well, first I would’ve asked them why they had left St. Louis and shown up in Seattle unannounced… then I would’ve asked them to take me out for dinner.

But then, as we began to roll out of the Bikram studio parking lot, I just might have unleashed a Damien-like wrath unlike any other my folks had ever seen from me before….

Then again, that would likely decrease the probability of getting a good meal out of them, so probably not.

I have to say, I think I’m starting to enjoy this!

That might be a little aggressive.  Let’s just say, today was completely and absolutely…. tolerable.  Today was the first day that I made it all the way through without taking an extra savasana.

I even did “camel”, which has nearly made me vomit every other day… so I got that going for me… which is nice.

On account of the 6am start time, I assumed that today would be a continuation of my first two days of torture in the Bikram studio.

Not the case, as it turns out.

It was still difficult, but not so bad, actually.  I’m starting to wonder if maybe my body was just slightly in shock the past couple days.  Perhaps I’ve begun to adjust.

I certainly hope so.

I honestly thought that yesterday, my first day of Bikram, would have been the hardest day that I would encounter, at least in this “Phase” of my project.

I was wrong.

I realized that today that, while a few of the poses are absolutely difficult to get into, and perhaps even more uncomfortable to hold, I find that the most challenging part of Bikram class, for me, is in between poses.

It could be that during those transitional moments, my mind has the opportunity to disengage from the process of analyzing what my body is supposed to be doing, and in that resting phase, I then have the mental capacity to recognize my environment more… but I swear, the times I feel most effected by the heat and humidity is when I’m standing still, or laying in savasana, waiting to begin the next pose.

Perhaps to some, developing the mental and physical fortitude necessary to really flourish in Bikram is part of the appeal.  Maybe I’ll learn to love it.

I will say this, at the very least.  After my first Bikram class yesterday, my day was spent in a perpetual struggle to stay awake.  My body was done… finished.  By 7pm, I was more than ready for bed, but in the interest of not imposing a pseudo-jet lag upon myself, surely waking at 4am-ish the next morning, I struggled to stay awake until 9:30, when I promptly and immediately passed out, waking the next morning in almost the identical position in which I fell asleep.

Today, the remainder of the day post-class was actually tolerable… enjoyable even.  I had plenty of energy to get all my work done, and even some to go throw the Frisbee around in the evening.

Let’s see what tomorrow brings, I suppose!