Today was what I would imagine a yogic boot camp being like, if bootcamps took place in a mirrored yoga studio in a corporate building. The class was led by an energetic and strict man, a sort of short, barefoot drill sergeant in sweatpants. After a brief meditation, we started several series of invigorating postures, executed in rapid succession while the teacher barked the English and Sanskrit names like commands. My three female classmates and I tried to physically respond to the teacher’s orders: “lean back as much as” where “as much as” sounds like “az muh taz,” as much as WHAT? For an hour, the teacher continued to command us to quickly execute sequences of asanas, unwilling to adjust his orders to our skill level or physical ability. I was able to keep up, drenched in sweat, slipping on my mat. As my hands slid slowly and repeatedly out from under me in downward dog, my teacher very pointedly asked if I had purchased my mat from the studio or not (no cheap mats allowed.)
The class ended with some strict instructions from the teacher: drink five, FIVE, 5 LITERS of water a day to purify the body and skin. My classmates all looked at one another in bewilderment, how the hell is that possible? I left wondering if all the classes were going to be as violent and as intense as this one and am now debating going back Monday for more yogic punishment.