We attempt our first and only posture of the night. The Mountain is probably the most basic and best known of yoga's 85,000 postures, says Shari. It provides the basic alignment for all other standing postures, from the Tree to the Triangle. Here it is: stand ramrod straight with your arms stretched over your head. Hardly a towering challenge, right?
Then Shari begins the micromanaging that accompanies each posture. "Feet are hip-width apart, your weight evenly distributed on both feet," she guides. "Spread your weight over your heels and toes equally. Do you feel yourself rooted to the ground? Now lift up your kneecaps by tightening your thighs, lift your lower abdominal muscles and lengthen your lower back muscles. Lengthen the back of your neck by lifting your head up and out from your shoulders. Finally, inhale and lift your arms overhead, stretching them from the armpit to the little finger side of your hand."
We hold the posture for five deep breaths. I'm overwhelmed -- the unfamiliar imagery, the obtuse alignments, the choreographed breathing. In fact, I've completely forgotten about deep breathing. "That's the stress response," says Shari, noting that when your mind is challenged to focus on a task -- any task -- the first thing to go is calm, conscious breathing.
As with all our sessions we close with a meditation. Following Shari's lead the class chants as one: Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmm. I abort mid-ohm, gasping for air. Back at the gym I'm a cardio ace. Here I can't even hold my ohm. What gives?
People in stocking feet are quietly afoot. One of two daily yoga classes begins in 15 minutes. I see Maryann Fiebach, whom I met last night. On the backend of a business trip to London, the 40-year-old senior medical research associate for Bayer Corporation arrived direct nonstop to Kripalu. She discovered yoga less than a year ago. Before that she was a competitive whirlwind, doing quite well for her age group in marathons and triathlons.
"My mentality is just go, go, go," says Fiebach, whose basement is crammed with a Nordic Track, a treadmill, and a rowing machine. "I really wish I'd taken up yoga when I was competitive, because it keeps me focused on what my body is doing, not on going faster. But the funny thing is, now I'm swimming faster than I ever have."
This weekend at Kripalu, Fiebach is aiming for a breakthrough: to work at her limits without obsessing over whether or not she's making progress. Perhaps this is yoga's biggest takeaway. "Number one, I want to do more advanced postures," she says. "Number two, I want to forget about number one."
The morning's yoga session is wrapping up. Diana, a senior program teacher garbed in customary loose white leggings and T-shirt, instructs us to grab a pillow and a blanket and assume the Corpse posture. We lay ourselves out in a supine, palms-up, going-to-meet-our-Maker position. "You're about to attempt the hardest pose of all," she says. "Relaxation." The goal is to mentally scan your body for any remaining reservoirs of tension. Breathe in to dissolve tension, she says. Breathe out to release tension. My mind, free of any pressing physical challenges, races indiscriminately. To work. To home. To the stash of lemon cookies on the dresser in my room. My breath quickens. My body stiffens. "Where are you?" whispers Diana to the class. "Where are you now?"
I wander into a small, advanced yoga class to observe. Kavi Raj, the instructor, begins with a warm-up series of neck and shoulder rolls. I decide to follow along. Slowly, things heat up. In the Salutation to the Sun sequence each posture begets a counter posture: the standing Prayer morphs into an arched, arms-overhead backward "C"; a touch-your-toes bend from the waist spreads east-west into a knee-drop lunge. We go down to the floor. Up from the floor. It's fast-paced, and the postures flow powerfully from one to the next. For the first time I experience a zap of energy.
Fact: Since so much of a 90-minute yoga session is guided, you need to click with your instructor. For me, Raj has the right bearing. He's even got a last name.
"There's no getting it," he says, balancing on one foot with his arms lifted above his head in the Tree posture. "There's just being." I plant my right arch downward and raise my kneecaps up until my right leg is stable. Slowly I lift my left leg, bending it so my left foot is snug against my right thigh. Focusing on a spot on the wall across the room and exhaling deeply, I feel my spine lengthening, my arms extending to form a pyramid overhead. I actually hold the Tree without toppling over.
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