Alan Finger

Yesterday morning I headed up to Union Square. Slushy weather and train delays didn’t help the trip, and I began my meditation practice a bit early as I tried to let the irritable thoughts float up and away.

9:35 was still a fine time to arrive, it turns out. I settled onto a bolster and blanket in the middle of the large, elegant room. Plain white walls and smooth dark floors led up to a colorfully preserved door frame, in front of which sat a beaming Alan Finger.

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Yogoer is happy to announce a new content partnership with YogaCityNYC!

This means more class reviews, more event announcements, and more yoga love all around. Just in time for your New Year’s resolutions ;)

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Steven Cheng

The new year is almost here — time to start those resolutions. For those resolved to practice more yoga, how about duration instead of frequency?

Steven Cheng (www.simhayoga.com), a student of Dharma Mittra, teaches a three-hour vinyasa class that should detox half of January. The next one is this Saturday, January 2nd.

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Last week I decided to reinvigorate my meditation practice with a group class. Shambhala Meditation Center, on 22nd Street, offers a one-hour “learn to meditate” class each Wednesday, no experience required. It’s $10 (suggested donation).

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Emily Conradson at Om Factory

Yesterday I hopped up to the Garment District to see some old friends. Om Factory has launched their third yoga room, fully equipped for AntiGravity Yoga.

What in the world is that? Silk hammocks, hung from the ceiling, used to support or expand your typical yoga poses. It was developed by Christopher Harrison, founder of AntiGravity Inc., an NYC-based entertainment brand that began as an Aerial Performance Company in 1990. During down time in rehearsals, the dancers would hang upside down in the AntiGravity hammocks, suspended 30 feet from the floor. They noticed that it felt GREAT, and so they lowered the hammocks and fused it with yoga to create a class to share with the world.

I went to a Restorative AntiGravity class, where the hammock becomes an amazing supportive surface for stretching and massage. Where else can you lie on your side or belly and actually be COMFORTABLE? I’m so used to a rubber mat on a wooden floor that I forget it doesn’t have to be that way. I can lie in a silk cocoon.

Emily Conradson, the director at Om Factory, teaches the Restorative AntiGravity on Tuesdays. (She also teaches Vinyasa and Forrest — she assists Ana Forrest’s own workshops.) Her radiant smile and contagious enthusiasm lighten up any lengthy hold or unfamiliar pose. She led us through a whole-body decompression.

We stretched the sling out like a hammock, laying back for side and back bends. I felt like a worm, or a fetus, hidden inside the soft fabric. I must admit a bit of flailing as I figured out how to move again. We did Supta Baddha Konasana, and the hammock instantly supported each limb; no fussing around with blocks and bolsters. Sitting up, the hammock became a chair. We gathered it up like a rope, supporting our hips, and hung upside down. You get the benefits of inversions without the pressure.

Later on, we moved to the floor, so we could lean or pull on the hammock from below. It’s like a pair of hands reaching from above, supporting your hips in Bridge, or your heart in Fish. You can lean forward in a Wide Legged Forward Bend, with soft support for your head and arms. The class was gentle and soothing, in a whole new way.

The constant stretching and traction felt great on my spine and neck. Especially with Emily’s adjustments; she’s currently studying at the Swedish Institute of Massage, so her adjustments are microscopically good. But there were some moments of intensity; Down Dog with the sling was a super intense psoas massage. Emily calmly led us through them, guiding our breath into the pressure, and I came away feeling lighter. (She has that effect on people.)

Classes can also be a workout. The standard AntiGravity class is a burner, known for “shredding” your abs. Emily showed me Plank with both legs off the ground, lifting the hips up to Pike Handstand, back to Plank, then twisting them forward into Side Crow. My abs hurt just watching it. Pigeon can be done with one leg in the hammock, extending your range past 180º. Dancer becomes a whole new pose as the hammock repositions your center of gravity.

Om Factory is the only studio in town offering AntiGravity Yoga right now. (Crunch has classes, but you need to be a member.) Wear a tshirt, versus a tank, since the hammock will be across and under your shoulders and arms. Class is definitely worth checking out; it’s a whole new vocabulary of sensation.

Lara Brunn

Last night I treated myself to a drop-in class at the Iyengar studio nearby. I’ve been feeling a little wonky and uneven in my poses lately, and haven’t been able to figure out why. Time for the Lion’s Roar.

(Kung Fu Hustle style! Watch 9:02 on. Or the whole hilarious thing.)

Iyengar yoga is famously strict. Iyengar himself is called “the Lion of Pune.” The furrow between his brows never seems to depart. His students inherit it. They range from friendly and normal, to straight up mean. If you don’t like to be yelled at, you might want to check a teacher’s reputation. Or your baggage.

But I’ve acquired an occasional taste for teachers who yell at me — it expresses a certain concern for my well-being. Even if they’re in mid-sentence, leading the class, adjusting someone across the room, they still have the presence of mind to see (and communicate) that it would be good to stop that particular habit RIGHT NOW. And if they have the chutzpah to yell, they (hopefully) know their stuff.

Iyengar is the most detail-oriented practice I know. If you want to know how to align every single joint in each pose, go for it. The teacher training is two years instead of the standard six months, and extremely anatomy-focused. Most other schools base their alignment instructions on Iyengar’s. I’ve heard “you can always spot an Iyengar student — they’re the ones with a beautiful practice who look like they’re not having any fun.” It’s also nicknamed “furniture yoga” since it uses so many props: belts, blocks, bolsters, boards, multiple blankets, even rope walls. Mr. Iyengar wanted every body, no matter what condition, to be able to experience each pose.

So what do you get out of all this? A spiral through the hips that begins in the outer edge of your foot. A release in the belly that spreads up the whole ribcage. An outward rotation in the upper arms that brings your head back over your shoulders, centered.

I couldn’t have taken it five years ago. Perfectionism goes CRAZY with the myriad details. You’ll never get them all right. You’ll freeze up and stop breathing.

But now, slowing down, I find it fascinating and absorbing. The energy isn’t geared to moving forward or around; you’re arranging the systems inside the skin. It’s incredibly intense, and burning, as you lift lift lift and hold the pose. That’s true of many classes, but here there are ten more directions engaging ten more layers of mind/body. You can feel the muscles wrapping around each other, weak and strong. You can feel the transfer of weight upward, backward, or in spirals. You can feel the connection of each distant limb to the floor, through new pathways (superficial or deep). There are enough sensations that you’re not bored, and so you work even harder and breathe. And later relax.

Here’s an interview with John Schumacher describing a similar feeling.

Or maybe it’s just the teacher, Lara Brunn. She narrates nonstop (with only occasional yelling). She can demonstrate the wrapping of a muscle down to its root. She’s high energy, but with passion/compassion, as if she just can’t stand for you not to know all the things she knows, she just wants to get them across as directly as she can.

I walked out of class with new posture. (And a crazy openness in my belly that left me loopy.) I literally felt like I was inhabiting someone else’s skeleton.

Yoga changes how we interact with the world. Literally, in our physical forms and the way they take up space, and conceptually, in our mental constructs and the way we direct our attention through the cloud of stimulation. But it’s rare to have a flashbulb moment and see these changes. I was reinvigorated with possibility. I’m grateful for the reminder.

Graston

Today I was thoroughly bruised by a doctor with a butter knife. I have never been happier.

It’s called the Graston Technique, and it might be the most efficient massage I’ve ever had. Six stainless steel tools, just begging for Sweeney Todd marketing partnerships, are rubbed and dragged across your oiled skin in order to break up myofascial restrictions. Aka knots, tightness, and scar tissue. If you bruise easily, you will be left with an enormous hickey across your offended part. My shoulder has never been sexier.

The treatment is good for tendonitis, plantar fascitis, carpal tunnel, etc. Supposedly it’s now used by all the major sports teams. Watch this video to get the gist.

The beauty of the technique is the leverage that the tool provides — you’re not limited by the strength of the therapist’s thumbs. The end is used to dig a ditch under your shoulder blade; the long edge rakes out your neck. It was actually less painful than I anticipated. One by one, he called out the muscles and neighbors of my rotator cuff, and attacked them. In twenty minutes, he found and dug into every little knot my last four massages had touched on.

Dr. Minardo at Infinity Sports Medicine did the job; their whole office was strongly recommended by a marathoning friend. Dr. Babiy checked out a little knee puffiness (no drama, just imbalance!), and Stephen Kim taught me some physical therapy. They had a range of suggestions for my chronic shoulder tendonitis, including trigger point INJECTIONS (of saline)… but who could turn down “a massage with a special metal device?” (One covered by my insurance, too?)

I felt almost guilty going to a Western office, like there was some Eastern technique I just hadn’t found… but you gotta love German engineering, too. And, I’m telling myself the 8am appointments count as a morning practice. I go back twice next week, but the real test will be for me to keep up w/the homework (ice and stuff for the knee). If I can clear up this shoulder I will be SO happy, cause there’s a time limit on your body’s ability to regain full elasticity; you can’t leave it knotted for too long. It’s time to say goodbye…

Isaac Peña

Last week I dropped by Sankalpah Yoga to take a class with Isaac Peña. He used to teach at Exhale, and I remembered his classes being nice and firey.

(My favorite story about Isaac: He’s teaching at Exhale, and tells the class to come into a Squat. “If your heels don’t touch the ground, put a blanket under them.” One guy, heels way off the ground, doesn’t move. Isaac repeats, “If your heels don’t touch the ground, PUT A BLANKET UNDER THEM.” Still no movement. So Isaac erupts, “I’M NOT SPEAKING SANSKRIT HERE!!!”)

Sorry. Sidetracked. Sankalpah is great. It’s the space that Jude English and Isaac started after they left Exhale. (I thought it went under, but they’d just changed their website from www.sankalpahyoga.com to www.sankalpah.com.) And now they’ve pulled Mary Dana Abbott away from Laughing Lotus, so you have three senior teachers in the same studio. And, they offer $14 classes ($12 if you buy 10!) to yoga teachers who show them a pay stub.

Class was indeed firey, and full of a million twists. I was woozy for two days after, didn’t drink enough water to flush whatever demons I’d riled up. Isaac does a lot of good adjustments, and there was no place to run and hide.

The best part was a little backbend instruction I got at the end. I went up into a Full Wheel, and stepped my feet a bit closer to my hands. (Not as much as normal; I’m trying to back off the extreme shapes and get out of my lower back.) Isaac comes over, and gives me a look. “How does that feel?” he asks as I come down.

I expect the wrath of Iyengar. “Fine…” I say.

“How does it FEEL?” he repeats.

“It pinches a little, in the lower back… I’m trying to move out of it.”

So he schools me. “Well, in contortionism that’s called a Short Backbend. That works the lower back, but you’ve already got that flexibility. A Long Backbend, with the feet further from the hands, will get into the upper back and shoulders.”

Awesome. I love when something is clearly broken down. And when a sentence begins with “In contortionism.”

I’ve seen and practiced several versions of Full Wheel, but somehow it never occurred to me to think of them as different poses, since they have different functions. Thanks Isaac!

I would be hard pressed to think of a gift better than massage. The more yoga I do, the more body-aware I get, and the more I actually hear the muscles and joints crying for a little attention. Besides Down Dog.

So, when my friend Greg needed guinea pigs on whom to practice his Thai Yoga Massage training, I jumped at the chance. Computer Pose is not doing my musculature any favors.

I’ve been pining for a trigger point massage, as I have some left side tightness that is spreading like swine flu, and the sadistic forms of massage seem to have the longest-lasting effects. But I’d never had a Thai Yoga Massage — only a few poses doled out at the end of AcroYoga classes here and there. I knew it was nicknamed “lazy man’s yoga” because you’re pushed and pulled into different positions as you lay on the floor. I didn’t know how awesome it was.

Laying on my back, I was kneaded from toes to hips, plied into a butterfly, and pulled into a twist. These culinary techniques continued on my side, up my back, and out my arms. I was hung sideways by a leg and an arm. I was rolled up into a ball and squished. Each limb, each digit, was folded and pressed. Chin, cheeks and eyebrows were pinched tight, and my whole skull was scrubbed clean.

It was definitely the most whole-body massage I’ve ever had — every major muscle group was covered from multiple angles. I could feel the stress buzzing as it was prodded and pulled, and afterward I felt as if I’d been drained of some toxic fluid. Clear and happy.

Greg has a great sense of touch, and perfect pressure; he’s a natural. And: he makes house calls. If you’re sore or stressed, email someoneonesun at gmail dot com.

Mia Baer

Last night I was invited uptown for a little restorative yoga. I’ve returned to my strong vinyasa classes lately, so I was happy to head for a Sunday night slow-down.

New York Yoga is a well-established studio with two locations: a heated studio on 85th and Lex, and the main studio at 86th and York. The York space is beautiful: simple wood floors and stone columns anchor the two small classrooms, while a winding hallway leads back to spacious locker rooms. Drop-in classes are a top-of-the-line $23, plus $2 mat rental, but the comfort of the space made me feel like it was worth every penny.

As I waited in the hallway for the classroom to open up, I leafed through Judith Lasater’s restorative yoga bible: “Relax and Renew: Restful Yoga for Stressful Times.” One of the preeminent teachers of restorative yoga, Lasater turned to the style after a family member died. She lost the desire for her standard yoga practice, and decided to practice restorative poses for a year, in response to her grief. They helped her accept and recover from her pain and fatigue, and inspired her to teach the style for which she is now well-known. Putting the body in a comfortable position and focusing on the breath triggers the relaxation response (slower/lower heart rate, metabolism, breathing, blood pressure, and brain waves) in as little as five minutes. It’s “active relaxation” because the mind is gently focused, and the body is carefully stimulated as well as relaxed.

Mia Baer, the instructor of the evening, studied with Lasater (as well as Alan Finger and Seane Corn). She teaches both vinyasa and restorative yoga. This restorative class was highly recommended by the staff at the studio, and indeed had a good turnout (about 15 students) for a beautiful spring evening. Mia (pronounced MY-a) was friendly, articulate, and just radiant with good health. She got us quickly arranged against the walls around the room, prepared with our piles of props. A bit of Alternate Nostril Breathing slowed and balanced our minds, and then we moved to the restorative poses.

Starting off in Reclined Cobbler (Supta Baddha Konasana), we lay back on bolsters, blankets and blocks. Eye pillows (or just a tshirt as blindfold) were recommended, but I hadn’t brought anything into the studio with me. For ten, maybe fifteen minutes we lay listening to music — and the tension in our hips. Mia did a delicate massage of lavender oil around our necks and temples, bringing another sense into relaxation. To keep the mind focused, she suggested slowly counting up to four and back down; indeed, this helped check my daydreaming. The stretching sensations were moderate but steady, and at the end of the pose I was surprised how much my knees had opened out. I was also happy to spend a chunk of time in a pose recommended for my shoulders (the bolster beneath the back lets the shoulders relax outward, counteracting the Chaturanga tension yogis tend to build up).

Next, it was time to “stop, drop and roll” into Legs Up the Wall (Viparita Karani). A slight variation added a little backbend to this gentle inversion: placing the bolster a few inches from the wall let the tailbone arch downward. My lower back was very happy. We also rested the hands on blocks, out to the side, which let my carpal-tunnelled arm feel nice and comfortable. This pose is great for swollen feet or varicose veins; circulation trickles down the legs and back to the heart.

After that was Savasana! (I still can’t get used to just three or four poses in a 75-minute class. It flew by.) We lay two blankets down the length of the mat, providing a full-body cushion, and added a bolster under the knees. A beautiful direction to focus on the feeling “halfway between falling and floating” sent me deep into relaxation, and when we finally pulled the knees into the chest I felt quiet and calm. We released the knees to one side, and then the other, gently twisting the spine, and then slowly brought ourselves up to close.

The simplicity of the class was refreshing: each pose was just a few sentences of instruction, a gentle adjustment (or not), and then the whir of the AC clicking on to clear the air. We were left in peace and quiet for at least five minutes each pose. Eventually my mind started to absorb it. I could only wish for better soundproofing, as the teacher next door and students in the hall were a constant drone in my ear. But Mia led us ably past the distractions of late students and exiting classes, and I left with a big dopey grin. I don’t know which glands / muscles / organs are stimulated, squeezed, stretched, or comforted by these poses, but the practice of relaxation was golden.