The Simple Life

Yesterday was delightful.

I practiced at Shala X in the a.m., got the most rip-roaring Mari C adjustment ever from Xtina, got my increasingly powerful Supta K adjustment from Sir and then made my way uptown to Yoga Sutra, where I was teaching at an event for the publisher of Women's Health magazine and a veritable party bus (okay not really a bus, but I'm trying to paint a picture here) of the publisher's clients (advertisers and such).

Let me just say - LIKE TOTALLY AWESOMELY FUN.

When I arrived at Yoga Sutra, there were two totally chic chicks in the lobby area waiting, with clipboards bearing a guest list, beside motherlode of bright red mats emblazoned with the magazine's name to be given to each guest. They took one look at me, black yoga pants, pink "Do Yoga" tanktop and two thick braids hanging down either side of my head and said, "You must be the teacher." We talked briefly about what the guests were expecting out of the yoga class and there was some brief chaos concerning the fact that the guests were hoping to practice to music, but we were going to be practicing in the Ashtanga room where there is no sound system (problem solved with a handy boom box and a Yoga Chickie music mix CD that I had left at the studio long ago for exactly this sort of emergency).

As we talked, the guests poured into the lobby like popes from a Volkswagen. Laughter and friendly chatter swelled to fill the space, and the positive vibes rushed around Yoga Sutra with the speed and lightness of a hummingbird.

We ended up having something like 29 people in the room. My CD skipped only once (that's why I use my iPod now instead of CDs), but no one seemed to notice. The concentration level was astouding despite that most of these guests were fairly new to yoga. I think it must have something to do with publisher's physical culture and active-lifestyle values. At the end of class, the publisher asked us if we could do this every other week, so I am thrilled to say that the Cult that is Mathead may have a whole new slew of joiners.

When class was over the Chic Chicks had these wonderful little gourmet lunch boxes (with a choice of Italian Herb Tuna on Seven Grain Bread or Fresh Roasted Turkey) and bottles of mineral water waiting for everyone. I ended up bringing one home for my kids, who happen to love tuna sandwiches. I didn't have one myself since I had been invited to a little soiree at Salute with a group of Christopher's students, including the delightful Horse Trainer, the Horse Trainer's Teacher, the Pregnant but Practicing Photographer, the Ben Stiller Dead Ringer and the Girl Who Does Evenings Now. Such fun! And allow me to disabuse ya'all of any notion that Ashtangis never consume alcohol, white bread or mushrooms (a.k.a. the ayurvedically inappropriate fungus amongus).

I would have stayed longer and joined in the imbibing except that I had to skeedaddle up to Scarsdale for Visiting Evening at the boys' daycamp, where I came to realize for the first time without a doubt that it's time to move on to the more intense sports program that our chosen sleepaway camp will provide.

At home, much later, I did the unthinkable. I combed my hair. Longing to reach up and touch something smooth, I just had to do it. And you know what? The earth did not stop. The sky did not come crashing in on me. And today, when I woke up, my hair was still smooth but smoothly wavy. And I saw that it was good (to allow for some flexibility in hair...and other?...routines).

Today is the kickoff of Shala Summer Camp! I will not be able to get there until tomorrow, however, since I need to be here this afternoon to pick the kiddies up from the camp bus. So, it will be me on the bus tomorrow, bright and early, off to Camp Ashtangi. Bugs and all. Outhouses and outdoor showers.

Pray for me. It's the Simple LIfe, Yoga Chickie style.

YC