Yoga on the Rocks?

by Laurie Wells — June 11, 2007

Last summer, as I was making my way through the crowd at the local farmer's market, I suddenly found myself holding a flier for an "outdoor yoga experience," which I promptly used to stop the drip from my leaking paper coffee cup. I scoffed at the idea of paying $20 for a yoga class in a public park - partially because I didn't see a reason for the expense, considering the class wasn't in a studio, and because I couldn't fathom being able to reach a Zen state while flicking mosquitoes and being stared at by passersby.

I've tried "hot yoga" and "warm yoga" and even yoga in a regular-temperature studio, but most of my yoga instruction has been via DVD (my yoga-addict friends scoff at the idea that this is true yoga, but I like the convenience and privacy of having a class of one). At the beginning of the year, I downloaded a yoga workout to my iPod Shuffle, which gave me even more freedom as to when and where I could unroll my mat - in hotel rooms, my parent's living room, or even outside.

As I was contemplating doing yoga in my living room as usual, I suddenly remembered the flier and figured what the heck. I didn't join the class in the park, but I found myself unrolling my purple sticky yoga mat on the patio in my backyard. Although not really in public view, I felt pretty sure that my neighbors would be enjoying my lack of flexibility - especially the older lady next door that knows more about my daily routine than I do.

At first, I felt completely self-conscious and kept pulling out my ear bud to listen for the sound of giggling from the neighboring yards. Convinced someone somewhere was watching, I kept readjusting my shorts and tank to make sure I wasn't revealing anything more than my stretched-out limbs. But as my focus finally started to turn to my breathing, I slowly forgot to worry about whether the college kids that rent the house next to my backyard could see me. A few minutes into the practice and yoga became a whole different experience than going through the moves inside. I felt grounded (pun absolutely intended) and actually kinda connected to the world outside my little universe.

Not to sound like I was in that cartoon scene from Mary Poppins with the birds fluttering and sun shining, but I did feel a heightened appreciation for the warmth and the breeze and the solid ground under my mat -- and I didn't even have to suffer a single mosquito bite. I don't think I'll be packing my mat to a park near my house anytime soon, but I feel inspired to at least bring it along the next time I venture out into the wilderness for a weekend of camping. Fireside yoga anyone?