Page 9 of Puck Sweat Love

“Everyone, this is Tank. He’s joining us for his first class today,” I announce as I place Mr. Sniffles in his special corner bed and offer everyone a welcoming grin. “Tank, this is the Friday afternoon dream team. Welcome to our weekly happy hour. Let’s start in child’s pose today, lovelies.”

I take my place at the front of the class, demonstrating the pose before turning to study my students, including Tank who appears to have fairly open hip flexors for a musclebound guy.

“Close your eyes if that feels right,” I add, “and bring your attention to your breath. Just observe, at first. See where you might be holding tension, where things feel free. Be aware of any thoughts or feelings that might arise with the breath, and gently let those go. Arrive here and now, taking a moment to be grateful for this time on your mat.”

I guide them out of child’s pose, into cat and cow poses, before taking our first, gentle, bent-leg downward facing dog.

My regulars follow along easily, their bodies familiar with the routine. Tank lags a few seconds behind, but catches on quickly, the way most athletes do.

But the poor man clearly has a boatload of tension in his shoulders. Even after three rounds of sun salutations, he’s still as stiff as he was from the first forward fold.

“Now back to downward dog and hold for five long inhalations and exhalations,” I say as I make my way toward him. I crouch beside his mat as I whisper, “May I offer an adjustment?”

“What?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“An adjustment for your form,” I repeat. “I think it might help with the pain in your shoulder.”

“I…” He trails off with a sigh. “Sure. Can’t feel any weirder about having my ass up in the air than I do already, I guess.”

I smile. “Everything new feels a little weird at first, right?” I move behind him, gently gripping his hips, keeping my focus on my professional obligation to a student, not the fact that Tank is so muscular his glutes are practically bursting through his borrowed pants.

The man is a seriously impressive specimen.

“Okay, bend your knees,” I murmur. “Perfect, a little more. Good. Now engage your core and shift back, putting more weight in the heels.” I guide his hips closer to the wall behind him. “Push through your fingertips, paying extra attention to yourpointer finger and thumb. Brilliant.” I move back to crouch by his mat, resting a light palm between his shoulders. “Now let your chest sink toward the ground. Perfect! How does that feel?”

He grunts. “Better. Good, actually.”

“Amazing,” I say, giving his shoulder blades one last, encouraging rub. “You take direction very well. And just remember, there should never be pain during your practice. Discomfort is fine, as long as you can keep your breath fairly even, but if you feel pain, back off, and I’ll come help you find a version of the posture that works.”

To the rest of the class, I guide in a louder voice, “Now, bend your knees, look up to the mat between your hands, and step or lightly hop to the top of your mat.”

As we move through the rest of the standing sequence and transition to our seated poses, I keep a surreptitious eye on Tank. He struggles with any posture requiring flexibility in the shoulder girdle and upper spine, but there’s a stubborn determination in the way he approaches each new form that I can’t help but admire.

Though he really needs to remember to breathe…

“Inhale,” I murmur, stopping beside his mat again as he leans into a seated forward fold. “Inhale,” I repeat. “For real, Theodore, I need you to pull in a deep breath.”

He shoots a dangerous look my way. “Tank,” he whispers. “Unless you want me to call you Stephie.”

I arch a brow. “Point taken, but I really do need you to breathe. The breathing is the most important part. The breathing is what we’re here for.”

He sniffs in a begrudging breath.

I nod and smile. “Good, now let’s see if you can inhale for three seconds. Relax your belly and pull air in from the base of your ribs all the way up to the top of your rib cage.” I hum in approval as he gives it his best shot. “Now exhale for a count offour, emptying the lungs completely.” As he releases the air, I gently push at the small of his back, moving him deeper into the forward fold.

He makes a sound somewhere between a groan of protest and a moan of relief that makes Hattie chuckle on her mat beside him. “I felt the same way my first time,” she whispers encouragingly. “She’s a tiny tyrant, but you’ll feel so much better when we’re done.”

To my surprise, Tank glances her way, a small smile curving his full lips as he admits, “I actually feel better already.”

“Amazing, that’s so great to hear,” I say, warmth spreading through my chest.

This is why I love what I do. Yoga isn’t just exercise. Every time we show up on our mats, we’re healing, growing, and expanding our hearts and minds.

“Moving on to our favorite part, lovelies,” I say, standing to address the group. “Savasana time. Lie down, close your eyes, and take a few minutes of stillness to allow your body to integrate everything it learned today.”

I turn up the ambient music until it throbs in the room and return to my mat at the front, watching over the precious souls in my charge. When I’m here at the end of class, holding space for my students so they can relax and let go, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed with gratitude. This path hasn’t always been easy—my parents were both profoundly disappointed when I bailed on college to study yoga, and I know I’ll never be as financially stable as my friends who finished their business degrees—but there’s so much joy here.

In this room.

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