One of the courses I'm taking this semester is Travel Writing. It's not even a course that counts toward any of my degree requirements, but I had heard good things about it and it's something I am interested in doing as a hobby (hence, my blog!) so I decided to take it anyway. Our first big assignment was to write a 'Spirit of a Place' piece where we wrote about a place in Copenhagen and got to know one specific character through the piece. At the beginning of February, I joined Hot Yoga Copenhagen. I quickly fell in love with it so I decided to write my piece on it with a focus on one of the instructors, Anna. I hope you enjoy!
I grab the cold brass handle and slide the white-picket-fence looking door open to enter the room. The sauna-like atmosphere warms my body, a welcomed contrast from the bitter wind that whipped my face on the bike ride over. It’s 16:50. About half of the thirty spaces are filled by twenty-something age females in their colorful sports bras and black yoga pants. There are a couple men, all of them shirtless, lying on their backs. My bare feet stick to the ground and peel up with each step I take as I head toward the opposite wall. I unroll my thin, grey mat, carefully placing it between the four short strips of brown tape outlining the designated spot.
The woman two spots to my right is sitting in an upright position, legs criss-crossed, as she meditates. The room is dim, lit only by a few long, thin ceiling lights and brightened by the colorful array of yoga mats. They are aligned in a perfect order on each half of the room, divided by the instructor’s mat in the center. The only noise I hear is the light grumble of the sliding door and the gentle pitter patter of footsteps finding their way to a vacant spot. It’s 17:02. The class is now full.
Standing on the tip of her toes, the instructor enters the room, barely making a sound. Yet even with her graceful entrance, she commands the attention of the room. People slowly start to peel up from their pose and face her. This is her playground.
She sits down, takes a prolonged deep breath and introduces herself. “Hi, I’m Anna.” English. But it is clear that she is Danish with her accent sneaking its way into her smooth but raspy voice. Her appearance is a giveaway too. She possesses the classic Scandinavian blonde-hair-fair-skinned look.
The 32-year-old mother has been practicing yoga for almost a decade. Her background in parkour and fitness helped her develop body strength and awareness, making for an easy transition to her asana practice. Students of all levels are drawn to Anna’s classes, where she pushes them to play with their edge in order to achieve their full potential. She introduces the class, a short greeting, welcoming us to ‘Anna’s-Yassa’ and the flow that is about to follow. “I like to play.”
I start to become familiar with my body. Feeling every sensation, every part of myself from head to toe, as she instructs us to stand tall. I notice some gentle, classical music start to play in the background. Anna calmly guides us through each position. We start with easy movements and slowly build upon the flow. The focus becomes our breath. All together, we breath in through our nose and sigh out the air in our lungs. The motion and breath creates energy. My body flows with rhythm, as I transition from pose to pose. The class feels alive. The heat increases with every movement, the smell of sweat suffocating my nose. I wonder if steam is radiating from my skin and evaporating into the air around me.
My mom took me to my first yoga class when I was thirteen. As a young teenager, I was in the thick of the awkward pubescent transition stage. Along with the development of a body I no longer recognized came a new sense of self-hatred. In an attempt to combat this, I tried yoga. Yoga gave me a newfound appreciation for the stage I was in because of its significant emphasis on self-love and empowerment. It taught me to see myself as a work in progress. Now, in Copenhagen, I practice yoga as a form of self-care. It is an escape from the stress of school. My mat is a place I can seek refuge from the dark, cold, Danish winters.
I listen to Anna’s instructions while simultaneously watching her body move carefully into each position to demonstrate. She is petite but strong. Her swollen belly peeks out from under her shirt, which rises with each action. She exudes life, which energizes the class. She is glowing. Her movement appears effortless. I attempt to mimic her, but cannot. I seek self-acceptance. I practice instead. “Let’s play.” She enchants us with her gracefulness.
As I move my head over my arms into downward dog, I notice the windows behind me. There are six of them. The studio is beneath the ground, so they barely let in any light. They become foggy with the temperature of the room. As the sun sets, the room grows even dimmer, and outlines of bicycles emerge in the windows, illuminated by the yellow street lights. The shadows dance like pictures in the windows.
Anna guides us and I can’t help but notice the cadence of her voice. It is soothing and seductive. She instructs us step-by-step, urging us to try things. I move slowly. I find a rhythm. I accept my body. I play.
The next pose is a headstand. I stop with only one foot in the air, one on the ground. My heart sinks with discouragement. “Never jump to the end result,” Anna advises, as a sense of frustration fills the room. Comparison creeps into my mind when I glance over at the students who appear stronger than me. “It takes practice and patience.” I tuck away this piece of advice in my mind, as it can apply to most things in life. I refocus on my breath.
It’s 18:02. After an hour of being keenly aware of my entire body, dripping sweat onto my mat and trying to mimic Anna’s perfect, controlled poses, I make my way into the final resting position: savasana. I can feel the blood coursing through my veins, trying to oxygenate every part of my wakened body. My pulse feels present everywhere. My chest rises and falls with my breath. Sweat tickles my forehead. Otherwise, I am still.
“If you would like to receive a frozen towel, placing one hand on your belly means yes,” Anna says in her meditative voice. “Not doing anything means no.” I receive my frozen towel, placed gently over my eyes. It is stiff and dark, but almost immediately starts to expand and soften, as the heat radiating from my body breaks the stiffness. My body begins to cool. I am content.