The Ashtanga Diva

DISCLAIMER: I’m about to speak in generalizations below, okay? And as with generalizations, there will be exceptions to what I’m generalizing about. Statistically speaking, chances are there’s a shitty mysore teacher out there somewhere just as I know that there are tons of fantastic non-mysore, non-Ashtanga teachers out there too. I know this, you know this, we all know this. Now that we all know this, let’s get on with the show.

While I’m one of those judgmental types when it comes to fashion (Don’t you even get in my line of vision if you’re still wearing bellbottom jeans—it’s 2011 for God’s sake, not 1991), food (We’re not going to that restaurant that serves nothing but pasta drenched in sauce, are we?) and books (What do you mean you’re not reading YogaBitch?), I pretty much let things slide when it comes to yoga. I accept what people will and will not do with their breath and bodies, the choices they make when it comes to meditation/vegetarianism/drinking pee, or the money they spend on Bali yoga retreats/Manduka mats/Lululemon clothing. No, really, I’m usually not that spiritual/observant/caring enough to note what other people are saying or doing when it comes to their own practice. It’s their practice and that’s that.

BUT…

I am a huge judgment whore when it comes to my teachers.

I’ve been practicing yoga long enough and have taken enough of a variety of classes with a platoon of teachers to recognize good yoga teaching v. bad yoga teaching.  I’m also a certified fitness instructor myself and know the general characteristics that make an instructor (a) effective and (b) beloved among students. Plus I’m also a Washington, DC Type-A type that looks at teachers as professionals that I pay good money to instruct me. So armed with this knowledge and attitude, I’ve come to the conclusion that among yoga teachers…

Mysore-style teachers are the very, very bestest. Again, I have a handy-dandy list of reasons why.

1. Because they practice what they preach. As in teachers in the mysore-style (which I will simply call “mysore” starting here, not to be confused with the city of Mysore with a capital “M”), just like their students, get up in the wee hours of the morning and practice whatever series they’re working on that day. There is no “do as I say, not as I do” for these badass yogis. Many of them get their practice in before their students arrive for 6am class, which means they have to get up even extra-early! But more important, this also means they have a practice. They’re not one of those teachers who simply cue and adjust but have no strength to do a chaturanga because they’ve stopped practicing themselves. Can we all say street cred?

2. Because they are STRONG AS SHIT. They have their own Ashtanga practice so they can do everything they’re asking you to do and they know what it feels like to do it. A conversation between me and Tova as I try to go into Supta Kurmasana:

ME: I can’t put my leg behind my head. I have too much belly fat blocking the way!

TOVA: That’s no excuse Karmela, I have more.

After that, when both my legs were finally behind my neck, it took her another few seconds of squeezing my biceps toward each other to get my fingers to bind. It was hard work for her! Believe me when I tell you that a less physically-able teacher would not have been able to do it.

3. Because they are strict yet patient, both in their practice and in their teaching. As Antonella says, “[t]here are no shortcuts in life, and since this practice is such a mirror for life, there are no shortcuts in this practice.” I can’t say it better than her:

“I’ve seen it many times, people want to do a jumpback, jumpthrough, or any other pose, so they’ll go home and practice that action over and over until they accomplish it. But somewhere in attempting to become proficient at this one thing they miss the work of steadily letting the body open and strengthen. They miss the development of the bond between the mind and body that comes with learning things in a gradual, systematic way. And once they ‘get’ this posture they’ve worked so hard for, somewhere down the line that link that they never developed comes back to haunt them.”

4. Because they tailor the practice to you. I’ll never forget the morning Antonella looked at me as I went into Supta Padangusthasana with a suspicious eye and said, “Who gave you that posture?” knowing I didn’t have it the day before. Mysore-style, as a method of teaching, demands that teachers get to know their students physically and mentally, and adapt the practice to them accordingly. I’m not talking about picking and choosing which posture a student should do. Everyone gets to do the sequence as it was designed by Guruji. I’m talking about modifications to the postures, and more importantly, only giving students postures they’re ready for. To do that, mysore teachers have to get to know each of their students’ (a) ability, (b) health and fitness level, and (c) courage and willingness to try a new posture.  But that’s not all. Within the class itself, they also have to keep an eye out for people who are skipping postures and people giving themselves postures. Which, as we all know, is illegal. Okay, that was a joke! Chill.

5. Because they have hands and are not afraid to use them. Over time, mysore teachers get to know their students so well that they will nudge, poke, push, hold and squeeze you into postures that will scare teachers of other yoga styles shitless. What other styles will teachers gingerly (or strongly, whichever technique is called for) guide a student into the challenging Supta Kurmansana? Or gently push a student’s pinky fingers toward the floor in Prasarita C? Lots of teachers are scared to do that, not because of liability (although I’m sure that nagging thought is there), but because they don’t get to know their students’ hearts and bodies the way mysore teachers do.

6. Because they stop and talk. Mysore-style is the only yoga class where the teacher can stop you in the middle of your practice to exchange a few words without disrupting the rhythm of the class. Unlike a traditional led class in any style, mysore-style lends itself to these types of exchanges, which my teachers typically take advantage of. Our conversations are usually short, usually involving minor adjustments, but sometimes Stair takes the time to learn about a new injury and impart advice and tips.

7. Because they get to know you.  More from Antonella:

I take pride in getting to know my students. I don’t just learn about their bodies, I learn their personalities, quirks, the little things that make them special in their own way. I can tell if one of them is feeling off, if something is weighing on their minds, and I adjust what needs to be done accordingly. I try to make sure they do what has to be done to learn their practice correctly and safely, and at a pace that’s appropriate for them. I try to nurture them.

And because they get to know you…

8. They can make you push yourself when they can see that you’re ready. I’ll never forget the day Antonella bound me for the first time in Marichyasana D. If you’ve never tried it, believe me when I tell you that the first dozen times you attempt it on your own, you’ll feel like you are never, ever, ever going to execute this posture in its fullest expression until the day you die. But somehow Antonella knew I could do it, and before you could even say Samastithi, she was sitting on the floor with one thigh over mine, twisting me so, and making my fingers touch each other. Same goes for the morning that Tova put me into Supta K for the first time. BAM! There it was! She could tell I was ready even if I didn’t feel that I was, and we tried it and it freaking WORKED.

Conversely…

9. Because they hold you back if they see that you’re NOT ready. Like when I had an operation on my shoulder for a torn rotator and labrum but still wanted to join mysore practice and was firmly and decisively told, “No, you are not ready to come back yet.”

10. And finally, because they choose to teach mysore-style. Yoga teachers of other persuasions typically stand in front and look out into a sea of practitioners doing the same movement at the same time. Easy to take a quick gander on who in the room is more advanced v. who is struggling. In mysore class, people start the sequence at different times. Some are faster than others. Some are doing primary, a few are doing second. Some don’t know the sequence and have to be cued. Some are injured and need modifications. Some need adjustment while others are waiting to be dipped back.

And these are just the technical rhythms of the class. Sometimes a student also needs to be counseled on something more than asana; maybe his breathing is off, maybe his etiquette leaves something to be desired. And sometimes there’s chitchat in the room that the teacher has to police. And look! There’s a student that hates Bhujapidasana so much she skipped it.

Mysore teachers not only need to have their own practice and technical knowledge, but they also need an eagle eye, great control of a roomful of people doing different things and different times, reservoirs of patience, humor, a true love of Ashtanga (after all, the sequences never change), and not be afraid to use tough love on their students when necessary.

So, did I convince you that mysore style teachers are the bestest in the universe yet? No? Then there’s really only one thing for you to do now, right? Come to class with me.

Sadly, the upcoming start of the school year means an end to my attendance at Mysore classes. Sniff…can’t go to early-morning class and get the kids ready for school at the same time. Moms of elementary-aged kids know from whence I speak off—I can’t imagine that moving an Army battalion across the Iraqi desert could be more difficult.

Anyway, what this also means is that I gotta beef up the self-practice, which, together with Mysore, is how one ideally learns Ashtanga. I practiced by my lonesome in the wee hours this morning in the comfort of my family room, and I gotta say, right now, it’s  looking kinda sloppy. Couldn’t properly bind in Marichyasana D, couldn’t lock my feet together in Supta Kurmasana, totally forgot Garbha Pindasana and I think I put in one Chakrasanas too many. Or maybe I didn’t do them where they’re supposed to go. See? I’m all over the place. But I don’t want to practice with a video because I want to learn and internalize the sequence, and I don’t want to use cheat sheets and practice cards cause they interrupt the flow. I guess this is why they call it “practice.” The more I do, the more I’ll get it right. Hopefully. And I’m still hoping to occasionally join led classes here and there, as the ol’ schedule permits.

Back to Mysore tomorrow with the fabulous Antonella Accinelli at Half Moon Studio. Will try to savor every second of it.

So it’s been more than a full week since I’ve taken my first Mysore class and I’m delighted to report that it’s even more awesome than I expected. Wanna know how? Can’t talk about Mysore classes in general since I’ve only gone to one studio but let me do my…

Top 10 Reasons Why I Love Mysore at Half Moon Studio:

1. The individual attention. At first I was like, how in the world can a teacher go around the room providing individual attention when everyone’s doing something different? But you know what? This teaching method has been around for a long time because, yep, it actually works. My fab teacher, Stair Calhoun, comes around and spends a lot of time with each of her students, to the point where when her attention is focused on me, I feel like I’m the only student in the room.
2. The self-paced nature. Again, this was one of those things that I had a hard time swallowing. Because I’m a dancer first, I’m a slave to the rhythm of choreography, which is why I love Ashtanga so much. A set sequence of the same moves. But in Mysore, we don’t do them together. Everyone is basically dancing the same piece but to different music, or at least, different speeds of music. I thought I would find it distracting. But know what? I’m eating my words again cause I love it. I can breeze through the poses that I know, slow down and really work on the ones I find challenging, and flow at my own internal rhythm.
3. The masterful hands-on adjustments. Stair spends a good amount of time ever-so-carefully, millimeter by millimeter, putting me into Supta Kurmasana. She also dips me in backbends. She wouldn’t be able to do those things in a led class.
4. The individualized approach to teaching. Today, my teacher designed, on the spot, an entire practice for a student who couldn’t put pressure on her wrists. In Ashtanga, where you spend a good amount of time jumping back and forward between your arms, in Chaturanga Dandasana, and in downward-facing dog, this could be very limiting. But the studio was equipped with a wall of what looked like trapeze equipment, and the student was able to do the standing sequence using the straps and wall with no pressure on her wrists. She even did a headstand that was really cool. I wanted to do it. Looked like fun.
5. The internal vs. external focus. Because each student is practicing different parts of the sequence, you’re usually in a certain asana all by yourself. In a led class, where everyone’s doing the same thing, I usually can’t help but glance around the room to see how everyone’s doing. I can’t help it. The teacher in me wants to check out everyone’s alignment, the student in me just wants to make sure I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing vis-a-vis everyone else. But in a Mysore class, because you’re usually the only one holding that particular pose at that particular time, you have no choice but to just focus on what you’re doing. You have no one to compare yourself with, which erases the pressure of “performing,” which makes you even more aware of what your body, breath and gaze are doing, which can only deepen your practice.
6. The flexibility. Of your schedule, not your body, hehe. Basically you can practice any and all parts of the Primary Series as much or as little as you want. We have every type of practitioner at Mysore class—from a beginner who comes in and practices just her Surya Namaskara A and B, all the way to an expert yogi who does every part, including Chakrasana.
7. The close partnership between student and teacher. Before class begins, Stair engages each student in a short conversation to basically gauge their status for the day. She asks us about our injuries, how much time we have to practice that day, if we want to work on anything in particular, and anything else that might affect our practice that morning. Because of my glute/ham injury, she has me take a pause in my practice to do short strengthening exercises. See, another thing you can’t do in a led class. She’s also worked closely with me on my Chakrasana, and I’m proud to say that only after attending four Mysore classes, I’ve seen some improvement.
8. The early morning start time. The day job + the kids + teaching my own classes leaves me little time for supplemental workouts, so I try to fit them in whenever I can. The 6:30am start time is brutal early but time efficient. From what I’ve heard, this is the traditional time that Mysore is practiced. I’m grateful for my teacher for having decided to open her studio to students this early in the morning when she could be sleeping in. I seriously doubted I could make it out the door by 6 am three days a week, but I actually find myself bounding out of bed (as much as I can bound with sleeping NDH next to me) cause I just can’t wait to get to class.
9. Half Moon Studio’s beautiful surroundings. It’s next to a lake. When you look out the window, you see trees, water, the sky. The location, plus the peace of the early morning, serve as beautiful ways to start the day. Glorious and inspiring.
10. My wonderful teacher, Stair Calhoun. Without her, none of #1-9 would be happening. Matter of fact, I haven’t found a Mysore class in Fairfax County, Va. at all. Hers might be the only one. Thank you Stair, and namaste.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m not saying led classes suck. Far from it. Led classes rock my world too. In a led class, I derive energy from other people in the room. I’m an extrovert that way. Plus, like I said, I’m a sucker for choreography. I love the beauty of large-group synchronized movement. It’s like having two kids—I love them both equally, just in different ways.

Now if I can only master the chant. My memory’s shot, especially for words. Can’t memorize phone numbers to save my life. Fortunately, I can still remember movement and choreography. Hmmm…maybe if I set the chant to an interpretive dance, I’ll be able to remember it.

Great weekend, all.

I’ve been hearing about this “mysore” thing from the day I went to my first Ashtanga class. Curious girl that I am, I had to find out all about it. Evidently it’s another type of Ashtanga class, the same but different. My first question was—how do you pronounce it? And then my second and more important question—what is it? And how is it different from a regular “led” Ashtanga class?

Off to Google I went to research the situation. But the more I researched, the more alarmed I got. Well, not exactly alarmed, but I was definitely daunted with what I found. The class is self-paced? With no teacher in the front of the room telling me what to do next? No one to motivate me and kick my ass?  What I saw in YouTube was even scarier—a roomful of people seemingly doing their own thing, knowing what comes next and how to get into the most difficult of poses, with a hands-off teacher just looking on like a benevolent Buddha.

So naturally I was scared to go. What if I don’t remember what comes next? What if I get it wrong? What if (gulp!) people laugh at me because I so obviously didn’t know what the hell I was doing and didn’t look like I belonged?! All this performance anxiety made me decide not to go, no way Jose. Mysore class (which I finally discovered was pronounced “my” as in “My dog ate my homework,” and “sore” as in “All this yoga is making my ass sore,”) ain’t for me, thankyouverymuch.

But then I made the mistake of reading more books that told me the Mysore way is the traditional way of practicing Ashtanga. That it’s how Sri K. Patthabi Jois, the founder of Ashtanga, taught his classes. Well excuse me! So my preferred way ain’t the real deal? I was agog, I was aghast (“Is Marius in love at last…”) Sorry, I digress. Always looking for ways to insert those lyrics in everyday conversation.

Anyway, I’ve always fancied myself as the kinda girl who likes to get down and do the real thing, eat where the locals eat, dress what the occasion calls for, when in Rome, that sort of thing. Authenticity is one of those traits I value. So over the last few weeks, I’ve been strengthening my resolve against my natural inclination to avoid all situations that potentially have a high embarrassment factor, and I don’t embarrass easy so the list of possible situations is short, but Mysore class was very definitely on that list. I also set myself up to succeed. I found a yoga studio with a Mysore Ashtanga class, went to a led class, met the teacher, attended her lessons, got to know her (thanks to Facebook), asked about Mysore, and voilá! There I was at the crack of early this morning standing in her studio, bleary-eyed and nervous but caffeinated and ready to go.

And you know what? I don’t know what the hell I was so worried about. My teacher, the wonderful and amazing Stair Calhoun, couldn’t have been more welcoming. Because I had warned her that this was my first ever Mysore class, and that I had no clue what I was doing, she stayed close and kept an eye on me. I did my five Surya Namaskara As and Bs, and then she softly cued me on what asana came next. With each asana, she gave me guidance on how to get into the pose, taught me the proper breathing sequence, supported me in Parivirtta Parsvakonasa, put me into Supta Kurmasana, and pressed my arms down in Prasarita C. She talked me through Bhujapidasana, did a step-by-step Chakrasana with me, and dipped me for several backbends. Felt like a private class.

Afterwards, I was drenched in sweat and absolutely exhausted but felt like I was floating on air. Yoga Buzz, you know. Very similar to Dance Buzz but with a calmer sensation and less pain in the toes.

So it’s official—I love me some Mysore. For those of you who are still daunted by the thought, come with me to class and set your mat next to mine. We’ll fumble through the asanas together. But actually, we wouldn’t be fumbling. With Stair’s able guidance and expert assists, we’ll soon be sailing through the primary series like old pros. Let’s hope!

Namaste and a high-five!