Tammy,

This week I took three yoga classes.  Is that too much?

I’m afraid if I practice yoga too much I may become severely depressed if I can’t get the poses right.  I wonder what kind of side effects the yoga Prozac presents.

I might start dreaming about doing yoga outdoors and end up severely crashing my head on the ground during tripod pose.  What’s wrong with a little yoga brain damage, right?

Or I might exit a restaurant after a couple of drinks and a good meal and look up and see a half moon in the sky.   I might then bend over and put one arm on the ground, the other hand in the air,  and put one leg in the air, spontaneously doing the half moon pose.  I then might fall over and pass out with undetermined injuries.  After witnessing such a display, I don’t think my friends  and other onlookers will be trying yoga any time soon.

What do you think?

Gary Kahn

Tammy,

In class yesterday, you asked us to get into the downward dog position with the soles of our feet up against the wall.  I’m trying to figure out why.  I know one reason is for the students to work with this sensation and feel what it is supposed to be like if there is something pushing against our soles.

Perhaps our feet against the wall is a metaphor for the pressure of life pushing against our souls.  In other words, how do we react to life?  Do we crumble over, splat, and become lame, lying face down on a mat like a drunk?  Do we just wait for someone to help us become rich in Farmville or the latest Facebook game?  Or, do we stand up and roar in lion’s pose, excited that we’re alive?  (Is there a lion’s pose?)

Does this in any way coincide with what you’re teaching or do I hallucinate from my own sweat?

Gary Kahn

Tammy,

You may recall that in yoga class today we were doing the pose called Warrior I.  You came over to make sure my hips were straight forward.  Before yoga I didn’t even know I had hips.  Women’s measurements always have a hip number.  Nobody’s ever measured my hips and there aren’t any guy jeans called hip huggers.

Anyway, you were standing behind me trying to push my hips straight ahead.  You were able to achieve moving these newly found body parts, despite some unintentional resistance.  Now, I thought this team of teacher and student solidly had the pose.  But, you continued to hold me.  At first this was cool because I was perfectly aligned for the pose.  In yoga you are apparently not supposed to worry about being perfect or right or wrong; something about being in the moment.   As time went on, however, I felt like my leg was going to crumble and that I would fall over at any moment.  As the tremors were running through my leg, I was hoping like heck that somebody near me was a newbie, or anybody was doing something totally out of whack, so that you would have to help them.  Please!   Please!   Please!  Normally I am thrilled to have you, the yoga teacher, help me because that’s how one improves.  Well, as I was about to scream “Uncle” or “Kelly Clarkson” (a la 40 Year Old Virgin) and keel over, simultaneously losing all of my masculine chromosomes, you went to another person.  The second I was out of your sight line, I crumbled to the mat in defeat.  You didn’t see my putrid display and therefore I am, well, I can’t exactly say proud, but I am still allowed to use the men’s locker room.

I might say that if yoga wants to get more male participation, a name change might be in order.

Gary Kahn