‘I had no idea yoga meant learning a new language. We were told to engage our locks—I would have been happy to oblige if I’d known what they were, but I didn’t dare ask.’
There’s nothing more disconcerting than to be the weakest person in a room filled with women, but that’s often what men confront when they step into a yoga studio. They say this is your practice, that no one else in the room matters, but I’ve struggled with this concept, and I’m convinced that men and women do, too.
I’ve learned the hard way, pulling groin muscles, throwing out a disc, bruising toes. It took me years to build up enough strength to refrain from postures I wasn’t ready for. Looking back on that first time, it’s a wonder I had the guts to ever return.
I’d worked out at my gym for over a decade and had never wandered into that room with the frosted windows where mostly women went to do yoga and Pilates. To be honest, I had mixed motivations.
I was recently divorced and I had run into a friend’s ex-wife who was now a yoga instructor. She encouraged me to try it, but before I took a class from her, I wanted to get a handle on it at my gym.
I slipped off my shoes, grabbed a yoga mat, and held my breath as I stepped into that room with the frosted windows. The studio was rectangular, sparse; the light was soft. New Age music floated in the air.
A woman stood on her head in the center of the room on a hardwood floor. She was short and stocky with tight-cropped blonde hair. She reminded me of an old-school Russian gymnast.
Several other women were in yoga positions. One looked like a lotus petal, another was folded into thirds like a piece of origami. I rolled out the blue mat in a spot farthest from anyone. I lay down on my back and stretched my legs the way I did back in Little League.
The woman who had stood on her head now walked toward me and asked, “Have you done yoga before?” Her voice was boot-camp tough, like a high school gym teacher’s.
“Is it that obvious?” I said lightheartedly.
“This is an Ashtanga class, a vigorous form of yoga. I don’t recommend it for beginners.”
“I didn’t realize,” I said honestly. “I just wanted to give it a try. I was unaware that there were different types.”
She sighed. “You can stay, but I won’t give you much guidance because it will only frustrate you. Just watch. Rest whenever necessary in child’s position. Listen to your body.”
♦◊♦
I wanted to ask what child’s position is, but was too afraid. The instructor then called everyone to the front of their mats. “Close your eyes and bring your hands to heart center.”
We began by chanting a Sanskrit prayer. The class knew the words. I kept quiet until the om. The vibration was soothing and reminded me of the time I stayed in a Buddhist monastery in the Japanese Alps with my ex—tatami mats, simple meals, an evening bath in a hot tub.
My shoulders were on fire, but I was too weak to retreat into child’s position because every woman in the room held firm.
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I missed the next instruction because I was thinking about that trip. The class went into some sort of “A” salutation. I tried to follow, but it was like doing the tango if you’ve never danced. By the time I’d figured out the sequence, the group had moved on to “B” salutations. This sequence was even harder. I did my best, but it wasn’t pretty and sweat pooled on the mat.
Now everyone but me was standing with eyes closed.
The postures had odd names, which I assumed were also Sanskrit. Prasaritta something and Chattanooga Vondashinu came next. Everyone must have spoken this language because they moved with the precision of a soldier and the grace of a dancer. I, on the other hand, played the role of the court jester, out of step and breath.
I had no idea yoga meant learning a new language. We were told to engage our locks—I would have been happy to oblige if I’d known what they were, but I didn’t dare ask.
The instructor reminded me of Mr. Frostman from ninth-grade gym. If I showed any weakness she might make me run laps, do a hundred push-ups, or worse, give me detention. “Slide into downward dog,” she instructed. “Relax into this resting position. If it doesn’t feel restful, retreat into child’s pose.”
I was on all fours making an upside-down V, but this was no rest area. My shoulders were on fire, but I was too weak to retreat into child’s position because every woman in the room held firm.
Maybe it was the name that made this difficult. Couldn’t they have called it something more masculine, perhaps a pit stop? I was dying to pull off the road, cool my burning shoulders, but I’d suffer a muscle pull rather than be the only one retreating into a kid’s posture.
Finally the instructor claimed we’d come to the most important posture of the day, shavasa something, translated as dead man’s pose. At first I thought, that’s appropriate, I feel like a dead man, exhausted and embarrassed. But then I realized that despite no ball to hit, or points to score, my body felt the way it did after a great workout. Yep, I was tired and sore, but it was all in a good way. I may have put in a poor showing on all the postures leading up to dead man, but there was no doubt I had nailed this one. Next time—and I had already decided I would have to give this another go—I would do better.
Robert, thank you for this amazing article!
I love the candour and the humour…
forgive the australian references but I wrote a response piece to this on m blog, after many of my yoga teaching friends in australia had a bit of debate around my publishing of your article on facebook and twitter!
http://bit.ly/hfzDgu
i hope you enjoy it and look forward to reading more of your pieces on yoga from a man’s perspective.
elise
Nice article and well done for giving it a try.
For any guy thinking about beginning yoga I would recommend committing to trying a three or four different classes, and with different teachers. You may end up with a bad experience fort time out, but don’t let that put you off. There are a good number of yoga teachers who are sensitive to the courage it takes for some guys to walk into this seemingly alien environment, so keep going until you one with a style that suits you. The benefits are worth it.
Ashtanga is a fantastic practice for men and women! My husband had a similar humbling experience at first but came to enjoy it. I agree that your instructor could have been more welcoming and provided modifications — even in ashtanga this is possible! Looking forward to hearing more about your yoga journey!
Bob,
Great Article! Nice that you didn’t let your intimidation of being a beginner and Man in a predominantly female practice stop you! I’ve heard from the few men in the classes I’ve gone to that it’s a lot tougher then they thought it would be, especially the strengthening poses. I’m a woman that really didn’t start doing Yoga much until my mid 40’s and was never very flexible, so I can relate to feeling intimidated. I had a good instructor that gave me modification poses and encouraged me not compare to others.
Maureen
I’ve been doing hatha for three years on and off. It’s great!
a nice article…men are often intimidated into trying yoga because of what their preconceived notions about yoga (and some are quite justified). some studios and gym classes are not very welcoming, especially towards men, and thus creating an elitist atmosphere. also, some instructors are more dogmatic than others in terms of adhering to “traditional” teaching methods (sanskrit names, chanting, even when the instructor may not know what all that means!) the beauty of yoga is that it is so diverse, with so many styles and teaching methods and techniques that often you have to try a lot of different places… Read more »
Any Yoga instructor worth their salt would have given you modifications for every single pose and she or he would have encouraged you, maybe not to stay with Astanga Yoga but to try another style of Yoga. If you really are interested, try Svaroopa Yoga. Namaste.
Good for you for aiming to go back a second time. Starting a new yoga class can be a bit intimidating for me and I’m a woman. I’m sure it will get easier for you with time. I think it would be great if more men did yoga as it has so many benefits for us humans regardless of gender.
I have to say that Mr. Williams’ seemingly rather negative (or at least humbling) experience is likely the result of teacher attitude rather than his own inadequacies. I’m a nearly 60 year old and aging professor who has had the luck of getting a down-to-earth and straightforward yoga instructor (yes, she’s a woman). Without a trace of impatience or disdain, she’s helped get me more flexible and stronger without the negative vibes present in the above article.
Good coaches always encourage and correct rather than denigrate and sneer.
Downward dog and upward cat on, soldier !
I couldn’t agree more with Dud’s comment. I’ll explore the opportunity to learn from instructors regardless of their ability in another piece.
Thanks for commenting.
The Dud is right. I’m an aerobics addict and often need to do some Yoga for my quads. I resist anything slow. So it’s a challenge for me to just stay in the class for the session.
It I get into a class where the instructor presumes everyone is on the “inner yoga” journey with him/her and doesn’t come around explaining or glancing over at the newcomers with simple talk (I am a drop in at many places) then it’s not fun, not healthy.
Funny stuff. There is an older hippie Yoga instructor that teaches at my upscale suburban gym. He is the only man in the room during the day. When my own husband needed more flexibility after an injury, I had to hire a house call Yoga instructor. He didnt want to be the only male student in the room.
Yoga is the new group post feminist concousness raising without the talky talk.
Good piece!