It’s that time of year when many of us vow to get in shape. A vow that is usually expressed post-weigh-in after too much turkey and pie.
Staring at the scale, you sigh and pat your belly. You contemplate walking more, running, or maybe joining a gym.
Nah.
It’s cold outside. Besides, the next big holiday is coming, which means more pie. January will be the perfect time to join the other resolution makers and decide how to move your body.
What will it be?
Pushing a tractor tire down the street? That seems dirty.
Aerial or pole class? Probably not. You might get tangled, and the pole class, well, you’ve seen the YouTube fails.
You decide to try yoga. It seems safe. As a Gen-Xer who grew up watching Lilias, Yoga, and You on PBS with their mom, you know that yoga is excellent for fitness and stress reduction. Your HR representative talked about it during open enrollment. You’ve seen the happy, super fit, latte-carrying yoga students hustling to class, their mats in a sling over their shoulders. They always look so blissful.
You could be that blissful. It has to be yoga. It can’t be the latte. Milk gives you gas now.
You bend over and attempt to touch your toes.
Well, that didn’t work, but yoga should help. So you Google yoga near me and find a studio. You download the free coupon.
Excited, you show up and quickly realize you’ve entered the Twilight Zone.
Awkward and out-of-place…
You survey the room. The room smells of sandalwood, sweat, and Toms of Maine, and the studio bamboo floor has a slight sheen. Up front are buddha statues, a gong, a speaker, and a mat with a folded-up blanket next to it.
Everyone is perfectly coifed, young, and very blond and female. These are the women who remain coifed even while sweaty.
Flexible, bendy cliques of ponytailed students with manicured toenails and Gaiam mats compete for the front row. Meanwhile, you’re attempting to roll out your Facebook marketplace find in the corner, far enough away so no one can hear your hip pop on the first stretch.
Another Gen-X coupon holder arrives and unfolds her Target-purchased mat next to yours, as evidenced by the price sticker in the top right-hand corner. You feel relieved sitting next to someone who grew up eating Hostess and listening to Kate Bush before Stranger Things.
The statuesque, chiseled mala bead-wearing instructor greets you and your mat mate. She asks if you’ve done yoga before.
You mention Lilias.
The instructor, born when the show went off the air in 1999, has no idea who that is.
Your mat mate says that she did yoga at home during the pandemic. The instructor smiles and asks what her favorite pose is.
She replies, “Corpse.” The instructor maintains her forced, compassionate gaze and sighs audibly.
Class begins with a tap of the gong with basic instructions about safety with a targeted welcome to the new students in the back to take it slow and use the modified poses. Cue the heads turning to get a glance at the tourists, and you want to vanish into the bamboo floor.
You quickly discover that there is no bliss. Instead, it’s tough. Your arms begin shaking as you move through the pose. You attempt a third chaturanga. Your mat mate has given up, lying face down on the mat. Your instructor calls you out, telling you to take a child’s pose. You have no idea what she is talking about, so you lie face down on your mat like your mat mate, who turns to you and suggests that you both leave and get drinks. Drinks sound like a great idea, but you want to push through.
You want to be like Lilias.
Your body contorts and pops. People are binding and bending, and one person does a headstand during free flow. You try to pedal your heels to get them to touch the floor during down-dog. Sweat is building up in your bra.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see an arm flapping. Your mat mate is stuck in the reverse plow, her breasts smashing her face. You get up to help her roll to her side. You both start laughing. The instructor glares at you—finally, the corpse poses. Lying on your back, you stare at the ceiling and wonder if you can put your shoes back on without help and drive home.
You stop by the reception desk for information about classes on the way out. You discover that an hour of humiliation costs $50 for a drop-in. You ask if there is a beginner class, something easier.
No. That was the beginner class.
Hard pass.
Inclusive, affordable yoga does exist in Denver!
So, now what? Getting your down-dog on can be dog-gone expensive, not to mention intimidating, especially if you are new to yoga, older, or have a disability. Is it possible to take a yoga class in a welcoming, open space for all bodies and abilities? Is there such a thing as “cheap” or affordable yoga?
Yes, there is.
There is a yoga studio in Denver where you can pay what you can, and all abilities are welcome. Winner of Westword’s Best Inclusive Health and Wellness Studio in 2022, Guided By Humanity provides a healing, inclusive space for all people to experience the benefits of yoga.
Located at 3496 S. Broadway in Englewood, about 30 minutes south of downtown Denver, this locally-owned small business hosts 30 classes a month.
The class design includes all bodies and all abilities.
Classes include
- Community Yoga–slow flow
- All-Abilities–tailored for people with intellectual and developmental disabilities
- Kids Yoga–ages 5-12
- Chair Yoga–for people who want additional support during practice
- Adaptive Yoga–for people who have physical disabilities
In an act to be entirely inclusive of the community, students only pay what they can afford, thereby breaking down financial barriers that prohibit some from taking yoga.
While some studios may make you feel inadequate and unwelcome, Guided By Humanity nourishes the mind, body, and spirit. No one needs to be fixed or cured. Instead, wellness is extended to all, regardless of age, size, or ability to digest milk or touch their toes.
Radical inclusion.
Now, that’s bliss.
