How the Other Half Sweat

When my friend Isang and I made plans to go to a yoga class together, I envisioned my typical yoga-in-the-city experience: a somewhat cramped studio absolutely jam packed with harried people trying to regain some serenity after a day of work. My prediction was totally wrong for several reasons. First, the class Isang wanted to go to was at 6:00 in the morning. I woke at 5:00, and when I arrived at Pure Yoga West (there is another one on the East Side), it was still pitch black and I was too bleary eyed to register how gorgeous the entryway of this place was. Little did I know that I was entering a small oasis of tranquility rare for New York.

Isang met me in front and showed me to a gorgeous locker room, but I had little time to look around because I had to stash my bag and hurry after her to make it to class on time. We entered a serene, spacious studio that felt like it was about 90 degrees. Isang whispered to me that, despite the beads of sweat already forming on my forehead, this was not the famous "hot yoga" that is all the rage now. It was too early to get that hot, she said, because people have just woken up and would become dehydrated. This was fine by me, as I wasn't sure whether I'd be able to handle even the toned-down version. We unrolled mats and joined the rest of the class who were all breathing deeply under the guidance of a smooth-voiced teacher in yoga pants and a tank top. The room was softly lit, and there were electric candles arranged here and there along the walls.

The class itself wasn't all that different from other classes I've had (other than that fact that it was hot, which meant drinking lots of water and mopping off with a towel every now and then). We started off with sun salutations, then did some more relaxed poses intended for stretching and alignment. Having not shown my face in a yoga studio for a few months, however, it was tough and I was pretty sore the next day. Once class was over, Isang instructed me to leave my mat in the middle of the floor. I suppose they must clean them all somehow between users, which is nice given  how much the guy next to me was dripping all over his.

Common area, which looks much less pink in person.

After class, Isang showed me to a small refrigerator with a glass door in which a pile of small towels lay waiting. I wiped my face and neck with one, and it was deliciously cool and smelled like eucalyptus. We wandered around, checking out all the different rooms. In between the studios, there were common areas with comfortable looking, upholstered benches covered with throw pillows. The lines of the place were clean and simple, and it was spacious and utterly serene. Once I finally stopped sweating, Isang and I hit the showers in the flawlessly spotless locker room. The shower had one of those giant showerheads that dispenses a ton of gently flowing water, and there were shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, and shaving cream available in dispensers. (I noticed disposable razors there for the taking on the countertops outside, too.) I toweled off with a large, thick, and soft towel, which was a far cry from the tiny, rough shreds of fabric provided in my gym's locker room, and dried my hair with a quiet, powerful hairdryer tucked unobtrusively in a clever little cubby hidden in the wall next to one of the counters.

One could certainly get used to this, but in my case it would be best not to. Monthly membership to Pure is $125 for students, and I can't imagine how much for a normal, working adult. Still, I learned online that I can get three classes for free on a trial basis, which I may sign up for. If nothing else, I want to spend some more time relaxing in that decadent shower.