I thought yoga was meant to de-stress us, relax us, stretch us. Hmmm…. yoga in the Hamptons, during the summer, makes all of these goals difficult to achieve.
Yesterday my boyfriend, my daughter and I went to a very popular class taught by a local legend. We got there and the place was a mob scene. Mats were touching mats, there was no room for blankets, blocks, water bottles.
“Maybe we can come back at a less crowded time,” I suggested (hopefully) to the woman at the desk.
“No, no,” she insisted. “There’s plenty of room.”
Room is clearly a relative term out here when it comes to yoga.
We were not the last to arrive, nor the last to be guided to spaces by the helpful woman, who was not going to let one person out of their grips. There is money to be made here, primarily in July and August, and they are not letting you go.
We were spread throughout the studio, none of us close to each other. Our mats touched our neighbors’ mats. My mat smelled like dirty feet. We could barely move.
The class was long. I kept my eyes closed as much as possible, pretending that I was somewhere else. Somewhere less crowded. Somewhere that smelled better.
The class was okay at best. Will we go back? Of course. I bought a series. It’s cheaper that way. We didn’t want to drive all the way to Amagansett for yoga this summer, since we are farther west, but boy do I miss Mandala. It is crowded too, but not like this. They also play music sometimes, which I love… something that was clearly missing yesterday.
Oh well. We stretched a bit. It wasn’t terrible. We’re on vacation.
See you there tomorrow. Okay Russell Simmons?