Like the plagues of locusts and famine, another another sweltering summer of biblical proportions has descended upon New York. It's not uncommon to see people drenched in waterfalls of their own perspiration, duck in and out of bodegas for air conditioning, and gratuitously take the newer trains with more potent air conditioning vents. Last week alone, there were four days where the mercury wavered in the hundreds, and cooling centers have popped up all across the city.
There have to be ways to cope. Summer in New York is something that causes most to feel a wave of heat nausea, then a wave of anger towards tourists, then another wave of wishing you had some friends in the Hamptons, then one final wave of hating your poor city friends for not having rooftop access or cabanas. For me, it's mostly been the aforementioned. Until, of course, last night, when I decided to embrace the heat, rather than shutting up in my room with the AC on moderate blast (as I'd like to think I'm not entirely wretched to the environment, or my ever-escalating ConEd bill). I plodded, yoga mat in tow, to Yoga to the People on St. Marks.
Yes, I belong to a gym. But there, it's all the sort of glossy media types (er, well, you know). Yoga to the People is different. First off, it's donation based, so it's pay as you will. Yogis drop anywhere from a dollar to a Hamilton in the tissue coiffure and set up mats in the large, rectangular room. It was a good 85 degrees in the space before it filled in; it got a lot, lot steamier as the class progressed. There was no judgment if you couldn't do Warrior Two. There were, however, buckets of sweat pouring down as everyone slowly succumbed to the heat. There wasn't anything special about the yoga - it was hatha flow - but the mood was relaxed, serene, and quite tranquil. I left with a mind not exhausted from city life, and about 25% less water weight.
And, of course, no spiritually liberating workout is complete without fro-yo. Conveniently, 16 Handles is blessed steps away. And I proceeded to eat my weight's worth (well, .32 of a pound, at least) of four fro-yo flavors (Red Velvet, pistachio, mango, and peanut butter).
Namaste.
