Guest Blogger- Emily Denton- Torture Chambers

I finally tried Bikram Yoga. OMG. I have avoided Bikram for years. I have known several of his devotees that swear by this sequence, but I always was just too weirded out. The carpet? 105 degrees? AN HOUR AND A HALF???

All the controversy around Bikram the man and his ownership of yoga... seemed dramatic and just not my vibe. A good friend of mine recently started the practice and hilariously was calling it “torture yoga” which I thought was adorable and pretty accurate sounding. But she kept going and seemed to really like it. I decided, "Fuck it. Now is the time to try." Also the studio we were going to was not carpeted, and a good friend of mine had just started teaching Vinyasa there. Seemed like a good vibe.

So, she wasn’t being cute when she called it torture yoga. Bikram himself actually refers to the class as a torture chamber. And it is fucking no joke. I have come to the conclusion that for me, this practice is a lot like taking acid. If you go into it with doubts or fear, its gonna be fucking hell. But if you go into it with curiosity and an open mind its totally fine. Bikram didn’t make me hallucinate or anything; that is not what I am saying. But mentally this is a very intense yoga practice, and I think that is where I saw the most benefit. For me, my practice has always been about pushing past fear, going beyond my own self imposed limitations and beliefs. Of all the esoteric practices I have dabbled in, or the different holistic teachings I have studied- yoga has truly shown me the most progress.

Yoga is healing. It makes you face who you are. It makes you sit with yourself. Bikram’s method of 26 postures in 105 degrees in a bright lit room staring at your reflection in the mirror is a really straight  forward approach for getting you to deal with your shit.  At least that is what it felt like for me. Right away I had to make a choice- I could either become very focused and calm or I could freak right the fuck out. I chose to be calm. This is a major breakthrough for me. Thank you yoga.

If you have never been to a Bikram class I totally recommend it. Twenty-six postures including two very intense breathing exercises. Honestly the Pranayama in the beginning of class was what I found the most challenging and terrifying. I had never seen or heard anything like it. My teacher had an interesting way of speaking to it though. She said the Pranayama was like a release or shedding whatever it is you are carrying with you.It was like a gate you had to pass though to step into your practice. It is an integration. Not my usual cozy Balasana, no. Bikram is a no bullshit kind of practice. No fluff. There is no down dog or Chaturanga. In a way its physically less demanding than my Vinyasa practice, which my body has been really craving. No music, which is nice- -I appreciate the space for silence. And the only consistent word that the teacher repeats is “change”, which is them referring to changing your pose, but after about 45 minutes and the only word you really recognize is “change” its kind of a profound experience.

I also very much appreciate how it has changed my relationship to water. I signed up to do two weeks for $30 (great deal if you live near Capitol Hill, the studio is The Sweatbox Yoga and the
teachers are super nice) so I have now been to 3 classes. If I know I am going to class I start hydrating the night before. I feel that that alone has helped me to feel better. And every time I have left class feeling super accomplished, lighter, and very, very, very calm. A really nice practice to start the day. I am curious where this practice will lead me. It has been refreshing to switch up my practice and the intense focus and concentration required to get through those 90 minutes is just what I needed in my life right now. So namaste Bikram Choudury- your torture chamber is pretty awesome.

About Emily:Emily Denton is a local Vinyasa teachers and founder of the zine and yoga class series “Poseurs”. It is her passion to merge the practice of yoga with the arts, and bring affordable yoga classes to the community. As a true believer in the healing medicine of yoga she is certified to teach many styles including Hot Yoga, Yin Yoga, Yoga Nidra and leads the Hatha based Noise Yoga series at the Frye Art Museum. She is committed to holding space for contemplation and meditation in our urban life. Join Emily at The SweatBox for a Free Mother's Day Vinyasa class- Sunday, May 8th 11:30-12:30pm.

The Elephant in the Room

This afternoon I spoke to my mother in Arizona who asked, "Have you read the latest on Bikram?" And then I checked my email and there was a message from my partner titled, "You'll probably want to read this." Bikram is in the news. Again.

Since I started practicing Bikram Yoga, it's been controversial. In 1994, when there was not even an "official" Bikram studio in the city of Seattle, the controversy was about the heat. "I don't get it." "What's the point of the heat?" "That's not really Yoga." Eventually, as anyone who practices Yoga in 2015 knows, heat is now everywhere. I can only think of a handful of studios in our whole city (and there are hundreds of studios) that don't add heat. So, that's not really an issue any more.

Then there was the controversy of Bikram franchising Yoga. I've spent years telling my students that The SweatBox is an independent business, that we don't pay any money to Bikram himself, that we teach the purest form of Bikram Yoga but we don't pay for this right. We are free agents. Some people may not have known this. Now you do.

Of late, the controversy is the sexual assault allegations against Bikram Choudhury, the founder of Bikram Yoga. As a feminist and a proud owner of a business in which we strive to cultivate an empowered group of employees --mostly women and a couple of really awesome men--  I cringe at the thought of being associated with anything that reeks of abuse of power, sexism, assault, disrespect. I am a feminist. I am raising my daughter to be a feminist. I believe that Yoga is a path to self-discovery and that being a Yoga teacher is a role one must practice with the utmost care, respect, and love.

The allegations against Bikram are deeply troubling and they sadden me to my core. I remember when unfortunately similar allegations surfaced about John Friend several years ago. Seattle Yoga Arts, a studio that offered Anusara Yoga, founded by John Friend, is one of the oldest, most well-respected, highly regarded studios in our city. I felt heavy hearted for that community as the newspapers spewed about Friend's sex scandal exploits. I practiced at this studio recently and loved it. The energy, the space, the grace with which the class was delivered. It is a sacred space indeed, one that has not been broken by the actions of any one person.

Reading and rereading the news reports about Bikram's alleged actions gives me an ache in my belly. My heart breaks for every woman, and I've known many, who has been exploited, abused, disrespected, violated.  I become a raging lunatic when I imagine my daughter, my partner, my sisters exposed to the kind of treatment Bikram is being accused of.

I write this very personal blog to be clear about where I stand. For twenty years, Bikram Yoga has been a path to physical, mental and spiritual health for me. I have not personally been exposed to negative behaviors or actions from Bikram the man, but I stand behind the women who have been violated in their relationships with him. As a business owner, Yoga teacher, and human being, I do, have always, and will continue to cultivate and nurture a space where women and men are safe, respected, and free from actions that violate their sense of health, safety and wellness.

You're never too old to change

Bikram has a very famous saying, “Never too old, never too bad, never too late, never too sick to start from scratch once again.” All Bikram teachers, and most regular practitioners know this saying and hopefully try to abide by the idea. New beginnings are always possible.

In December my grandmother died. She was 96. Until about a year before she died, she was pretty lucid. Grandma, or GiGi, as my daughter and her cousins called her, was not a flexible woman. Raised in North Dakota by Danish immigrant parents, she was a by-the-book conservative. Grandma majored in home economics in college and was tough on diet and physique. Grandma was wholly concerned with appearance both physically and socially. Once in my teens when the fashion among my clique was to wear men's pajamas to school, she hid me behind a large potted fern to take my photo so that just my head peeked out. At Grandma's house in Fargo, we did all kinds of crazy stuff that never happened in our bohemian-oriented, liberal house in Chicago. We made our beds, said grace before dinner, vacuumed the Oldsmobile, ate beef.

My grandfather was also conservative, a small-town doctor and 100% republican. But Grandpa somehow tempered Grandma's strictness. When my grandfather was alive, he would tease Grandma about her rigidness, "C'mon Sally, let'm have a big scoop of ice cream." My grandfather died when Grandma was in her late fifties and I think that might have made her tighten her rules-belt even more. When she visited us in Chicago, she organized my drawers and my closet, bought me Lanz of Salzberg nightgowns to replace the oversized t-shirts and underwear I slept in, and spent lots of time in the kitchen, scrutinizing the bizarre goings on..... the wok, the rugged butcher block table my family gathered around, the half-open bottles of wine. As a teenager, I always stressed out a bit before visits with Grandma. Would she like my outfit? My haircut? Once I became a parent, I stopped worrying so much. Grandma became GiGi. She loved being a great-grandmother. The focus was now off of me and placed lovingly onto my then tiny daughter who could really do nothing to offend GiGi at her young age.

When GiGi was in her eighties she got remarried to John. John had been a close friend of the family for years and after his wife Florence died, he and Grandma hooked up. John, unlike my republican physician grandfather, was a former academic, and a democrat. Grandma was totally smitten with John. She would coo, "Isn't he clever?" And he was. John published word puzzles that he'd distribute all over their retirement community, doing his part to stimulate his sharp mind and keep all the other old brains fresh. John mellowed Grandma out a lot. She was so in love, so tickled to be in a stimulating partnership, to find romance (again) this late in life, that she stopped really caring about what anyone else was doing. It was a joy to visit the newlyweds at their little apartment in Sun City, Arizona. They were truly happy.

In 2008, when Barak Obama was running for president, Grandma shocked us all by voting for him. My grandmother's first democratic vote, our first African American President, at the age of 92! Growing up, I remember hearing the adage, "s/he's too old to change" about people far younger, and far less rigid than Grandma. Sometimes when I'm teaching I tell this story about Grandma voting democratic. I watch people following their same old habits (we all have them). "If my republican Grandma can vote for Barak Obama at the age of 92, you can resist wiping your brow in Standing Separate Leg Head to Knee!" Never too old. Never too bad. Never too late. Never too sick. Cheers to Grandma!

Summer Blues

I woke up this morning and walked to the coffee maker. As I stood, half-asleep staring out the window while I filled the water pitcher, I realized that I have found a new battle. The weather! As a control freak/perfectionist letting go is one of my big life projects. It's why I do yoga. It's why I'm spiritual. It's why I go to therapy. And I have developed my ability to let go in many ways. I let go, for example of having my house and yard look a certain way (though I still have bouts of trying, I'm not consumed). I let go of having the same parenting style as my ex, and that's oftentimes frustrating. I let go of Lucia's school not having an art program.

This last week a new stuckness has emerged for me. The weather. I hate it. I'm angry at it. I feel deprived and resentful and utterly cranky about it-- a deeply irrational response to something I really have no control over. But I do. When I wake up, I look outside and it's gray. I pull out my BOOTS to wear. I put on an UNDERSHIRT. Seattle is a stunningly beautiful city in so many ways. It is always green. The snow-capped mountains surround us, water on every side. Where is my gratitude? When it's 53 degrees in June, I have none. I'm too pissed off.

Both my sisters used to live in Seattle. It was perfect. The three of us are close in age (all within 21 months of each other) and being together is one of the highlights of my life, but since they both ran for the hills in search of better weather, I'm here in RainLand on my own. When they visit, they know to come late in the summer.

On Monday when I was spewing negativity in response to the weather, wishing I lived anywhere else, barking, "I hate Seattle. I really do. I hate Seattle," my girlfriend said, "Laura, you can't hate where you live. You have to love where you live. You live here."

And she's right. The weather is like anything else. It's part of who we are. It directly affects our energy level, our mood, our interactions with the world. Many of us know the feeling of hating our bodies, or our jobs, or even a person. That kind of negativity is toxic for the soul and the body. And now, as if I needed another issue to contend with, I've added Seattle in June to my list of things I have to let go of.

When I came into The SweatBox to practice this morning, Frani and I commiserated about the weather. She was exhausted. I was exhausted. She was depressed. I was depressed. Seattle in June was consuming me. And then class started. I was warm and cozy in my familiar cocoon of yoga. And it hit me! My gratitude. Here it is! I am grateful for this place, The SweatBox, where I can come to let go of Seattle in June (or any of my other myriad issues).

Cougar of the month

Last week, my daughter, who is three-weeks into kindergarten, won "Cougar of the Month" at her school. Cougars are her school mascot. Lucia was bestowed the honor, her teacher said, "because 99.999 percent of the time, Lucia is doing what she is supposed to be doing in kindergarten." Was I proud? Extremely!!! The teacher also said other things like, "Lucia is friendly to everyone, she helps without being asked...." But, nestled within my radiant pride, I also carried a smidge of concern that Lucia might be a super-conformer. Is she a kindergarten automaton? Or, is she just good at following directions? I've been thinking a lot about this.

Here's what I figured out. Lucia loves school. She asked on Saturday why she had to have such a long vacation from school. "I wish Sunday was Monday," she whined. Like me, Lucia relaxes in structure. If I know the plan, I'm open to anything. If it is wide and vast and unformulated, I'm not my best self. Maybe this is why I stuck with competitive swimming for fourteen years and yoga for almost twenty. It's comfortable, familiar. Lucia in school. Me in my yoga practice. Sameness, structure, expectations. These things create and hold a form that allows each of us to relax into the experience and find newness, excitement, and ultimately joy.

I've experienced the gamut of physical sensations and emotional hills and valleys in my yoga practice, but I've never been bored. Really. Every practice I experience differently. For example, last night, I was worried about practicing because my class the day before had been really difficult. So last night, I set my intention to focus on that practice and try not to bring the previous practice baggage with me. I stood somewhere new in the room, really close to the teacher (Kristen). Her fabulous turquoise outfit was surely a distraction, but I managed to focus and work hard in spite of it. I followed every single thing she said. I always try to do this, but, like everyone, sometimes I get distracted. Last night was different. Word by word, step by step, I let myself be carried through the 90 minutes. I learned so much! Like Lucia and kindergarten, I could hardly wait to do it again.