Sunday, May 9, 2010

Flow, Sweat, Stink: Nirvana

- LIZETTE ALVAREZ

Full disclosure: I love the heat; I like humidity. It’s in my blood (Cuban) and my upbringing (in Miami). So it didn’t take long for me to fall for hot power vinyasa yoga, a vigorous class taught in a room steamy enough to simulate the tropics in summer.

Flowing from one warrior pose to another, down into plank position and back up again, in 95- to 100-degree heat is grueling. It jacks up your heart rate and sledgehammers your stamina. After 75 minutes or so, you leave behind an outline of your body — in sweat, not chalk — on your yoga towel.

It would all be miserable if it weren’t so intoxicating. Muscles melt. Flexibility comes willingly. Last night’s mojitos surge out of your pores. At the end, you’re floating out of the studio.

“Right off the bat it releases more endorphins in your body,” said Seth Weisberg, the co-owner, with Alison McCue, of Garden State Yoga in Bloomfield, N.J., the spot where I roll out my mat most weekends. “It’s like I’m clean after a class,” Mr. Weisberg said. “I feel fresh, lighter, absolutely.”

New York City is home to several hot power vinyasa studios and classes, including Prana Power Yoga off Union Square; Earth Yoga NYC on the Upper East Side; and Yoga to the People, which opened a separate studio for hot vinyasa in the fashion district last year. Because there are relatively few studios devoted to this kind of yoga — though their numbers are growing — classes are often packed.

The notion of ratcheting up the heat and humidity in a yoga studio was popularized by Bikram Choudhury, the founder of Bikram Yoga, which is practiced in a carpeted 105-degree room (40 percent humidity) and adheres to a sequence of 26 poses. There are Bikram Yoga studios all over the country. I tried it once, a year ago, and while I know there are legions of fans, for me it was simply too hot and the style too evocative of Mussolini circa 1940.

One of my friends, in the throes of a hot flash, wept in the Bikram class and was chastised by the instructor for leaving. The rest of us stole illicit sips from our water bottles and took breaks as discreetly as possible because they were verboten. I wound up with a migraine. I realized then that the difference between 95 and 105 degrees was make or break.

There is no question that doing yoga in a hot, humid room is not for everyone. Purists argue that heating a yoga room is redundant; your body heats itself and then heats the room for you. Germaphobes can get turned off by the sweat and unpleasant odors. Others just can’t stand the heat or feel claustrophobic.

“People can hyperventilate much more easily, so I really emphasize the breath,” said Shayna Hiller, who teaches at Prana Power Yoga. “And the mats can get very slippery, so I stick to a more traditional flow.”

There can be medical reasons to steer clear of doing yoga in a hot room, too, particularly for pregnant women or people with multiple sclerosis, heart problems, high blood pressure or autoimmune conditions like lupus.

“Your blood vessels dilate and your heart works harder,” said Dr. Loren Fishman, medical director of Manhattan Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation and a committed yogi (though he does not practice hot yoga). “You lose more water and more electrolytes.” For that reason, it is important to hydrate long before the class begins and remain hydrated throughout.

To stay sanitary, studios must be cleaned several times a day, and Mr. Weisberg — who runs a construction-related company during the day — said that cleaning supplies were among his biggest expenses.

The fewer clothes you wear while doing hot yoga the better, in my view. I saw one poor soul wearing jeans in class one day, and wanted to tell him to run for his life. Although many people stick to long yoga pants, I suggest stretchy shorts. My arms tend to slip in poses like twists or crow, so I drape a face or hand towel around my knees or elbows. It’s also smart to bring a nonskid yoga towel to stretch over your mat so your hands and feet don’t slide in downward dog.

And one more caveat: It does get stinky in there. I got a whiff of something ripe the other day that wouldn’t dissipate. It turned out to be me.

Originally posted - New York Times

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