Despite living less than a 10-minute walk away, I'd always avoided the institute because: a) I don't particularly enjoy Iyengar yoga and b) it, quite frankly, scares the bejesus out of me.
Let's tackle these two issues one at a time: why don't I enjoy Iyengar? And, is yoga about enjoyment? Well, the answer to the latter question is yes, I think one should enjoy practicing yoga. If you don't, there's no point in doing it at all. To answer the real question at hand, though, you have to understand a little bit more about Iyengar yoga and what it involves ... so read this Wiki entry (and OMG, that picture is SO bad and SO misleading!). Anyway, Iyengar is too static, rigid and confined for me, as opposed to the great, flowing movements of Ashtanga. And while I'm careful not to compromise my form when practicing Ashtanga, the precision required of any Iyengar class is enough to make me want to walk through a glass window. Secondly, the Institute scares me because I know it's good, I know it's serious and I know they don't mess around (i.e. you're supposed to have studied at least 2 years of Iyengar yoga before taking the "general" class level. I have - I just didn't tell anyone that this was done in the basement conference room of my former employer's offices and taught by a woman who I'm pretty certain never made any trips to Pune (which is, like, the ultimate testament to an instructor's credibility at the Institute) to study with BKS Iyengar himself and almost never made any corrections, which is why I quit in the first place).
But at the encouragement of my co-worker, who has been a regular at the Institute for years, I decided to try the class. The Institute itself is tucked away on Randolph Avenue - only about a 2-minute walk from Maida Vale tube station - and is a simple, sanctuary-like building. Studio 1, where my class was held (pictured above) bright white walls, polished wood floor and skylights and floor to ceiling windows looking out into a garden. It is undoubtedly the most beautiful studio I have ever visited.
The absence of mirrors (which is a no-no in most serious studios) is the first hint that there's no cheating when it comes to alignment: you can't see your reflection, so you need to know how a pose, or asana, feels, when you're doing it correctly. Gulp.
The regular students quickly filled the room and I was relegated to a corner. The assistant, Chris, came by with a very nice smile and whispered, "Alaric will probably ask you to move as you don't have much space there, so feel free to take the other corner." I nodded gratefully and took my mat to the opposite side of the room. Most students were already lying in supta baddha konasana with all their props neatly arranged beside them (that's something I didn't mention about Iyengar yoga - you're expected to use props to enhance and help your practice. This can sometimes result in you having two bolstsers, two blankets, four foam blocks, one wooden block and a strap beside your mat. Aside from having a serious deficiency in remembering things, I'm too dumb to remember what to do with the props - another reason why I find Iyengar yoga tedious). Then my friend came plodded up and quietly suggested that I move to the middle of the room as I wouldn't be able to see. So I ended up directly in front of the teacher's raised stage area. Great.
Suddenly, a loud voice boomed across the floor. "I want all of you to begin in supta baddha konasana. You!" he barked at a girl to my left. "Adjust your belt BEFORE you lie down. Do it NOW." Chris hurried over to me and helped me with my belt as I frantically tried to position it correctly. Class hadn't even begun and I had a feeling I will be kicked out soon. After much struggling, I managed to lie back on my bolster. "You!" the teacher barked again, pointing down at me. By now, my arms were trembling from fear and I had forced myself into the most uncomfortable supta baddha konasana I had ever been in. "Your back is not long," he growled, quickly adjusting my hips from under me. "There. Now, can you feel?" I nodded vigorously. "Good," he said sternly, moving on. "Your back cannot be long if your buttocks aren't pulled away from the bolster!" It was a small adjustment, but made the world of difference. Again, I was scared, but grateful.
"Now rise up and turn to place your bolster between your knees, balasana." Shit. What is 'balasana'? I sneaked a peek and saw everyone getting into child's pose. The teacher sat inches away from me. "If you can't sit back on your heels, place a blanket underneath," he barked, clearly to me. I reached my arms long in front of me and put my head down on the bolster. But apparently, my child's pose wasn't good enough. "You!" he shouted. I didn't know he was referring to me as my head was down. He snapped his fingers. "Helloooo?" he said, annoyed. I looked up. "Turn your bolster the other way." I fumbled about, still quaking. "Like this?" I asked in a near-whisper. He grinned, as if to say, "Duh!" Great, so now I felt stupid in even the safest pose of all.
But it didn't end there. As we bent over in a forward fold with our legs mat-distance apart, he began to talk us through the muscles in the legs. My left hamstring had began to twitch and my palms were sweating like mad from nerves. "Rotate your inner thighs!" he commanded, and flicked his thumbs swiftly across my right, then left hamstrings. I was familiar with this rotation from Lauren's own instruction and worked hard to turn them the required way. "The important thing is to RELAX the muscles!" he boomed. Every time he commanded, "relax!" I did the opposite, involuntarily tensing. "Straighten your arms! Contract your triceps!" he barked at the girl next to me. "Come on!" he said, smacking her arms. She giggled, as did the rest of the class. Wait - was I missing something? Was his toughness merely a joke? As the new girl, I decided not to test it.
Throughout the class, I received some terrific corrections. I found out that I hadn't been stretching my hips flexors properly in a simple seated hip opener due to the way I've been crossing my ankles. I discovered that I had been tensing the wrong muscles when I sit in upavistha konasana.
Then we came to inversions. "If you're menstruating, ladies, stay in the middle of the floor and do the following asanas," he boomed. To be quite honest, I was too scared to mess up my inversions (though I witnessed quite a lot of people kicking up into headstand, which was quite interesting, given the level of perfection this teacher seeks) and face the wrath of the instructor so opted to stay in the middle of the room.
We finished with with a long savasana (there's even a correct way to do that) where he shook his head and told me I wasn't correctly positioned and worked on our pranayama, or breath control before rising to a seated position for the final "Namaste." I thanked the teacher and he smiled and replied, "Thank you," in a gentle tone. The best part was that he didn't tell me to go back to the Beginner's class. I breathed a sigh of relief.
So - what did I think? I got my butt kicked (nearly literally). But in a good way. And I think I'd like to go back. Then again, I'm a glutton for punishment.
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