Phil

Day 8, Hour 8 of 120 Hours of Yoga

I arrived at my usual time, about 30 minutes early, and waited in my car until 15 minutes before class started. The weather was gorgeous, and so I decided to join a small group of people standing outside, waiting for the doors to open. Everyone stood together, heads down, scrolling through their phones. 10 minutes before class .. 5 minutes before class .. the doors were still locked. A woman who was inside prepping food in the Seed Cafe finally unlocked the doors, apologizing and explaining there was a misunderstanding of who was supposed to teach that morning, but that "Phil was on his way".

Phil is a co-owner of the yoga studio, and a DJ. I've been to 2 yoga classes over the last few years where the instructor played really loud music. One of these classes was at LifeTime Fitness, where I felt completely bifurcated expecting a meditative yoga class, but was instead drowned in an environment of flashing lights and loud music one might expect in a spin class, while the instructor barked out orders of pose transitions, straining her vocal chords as she competed with the music. The other class I took with loud music was Phil's. Although Modo Yoga doesn't have flashing lights, they do occasionally play music. The class descriptions online list if the class will include music or not. I've taken enough classes at Modo to know that if they include music, it's usually meditative, soft music. Except Phil's classes. Phil's classes always include loud, hip-hop style music. And so I avoid them always.

As soon as I heard that Phil was on his way, I felt a small pang of dread. I have auditory sensitivities. Being in loud environments is agitating to me, and so I avoid them whenever possible. Also, one of the reasons I attend yoga is to find quiet space. It's an opportunity to quiet my mind and listen to my breath and to what's going on in my head and my body. Despite my initial pang of angst, I was hopeful that because this specific class was not supposed to include any music, that Phil would respect that. I proceeded into the studio as I had for the last week: leaving my flip-flops on the floor near the exit door, and setting up my mat in the back left corner of the studio.  

The class was the fullest I'd experienced all week, and I was grateful that my "spot" in the obscure corner was available to take when I walked in. I lay down on my towel and did some simple hip stretches, enjoying the heat and the quiet room, waiting for Phil to arrive.

Because of the mix-up there was a slight delay in the start to class. It likely started 5 or 10 minutes late. As I lay on my towel in the corner I could feel that things were running late, but didn't really mind. Everyone was laying quietly. It was so peaceful just laying in a hot, dim room, focusing on my breath, that I felt like if the entire hour was spent doing just that, it would be ok. Then the door burst open abruptly, and Phil announced, "Let's crank up the tunes!"

Along with the music came staccato directives to start moving into beginning poses. Roll over into child's pose. Downward dog. Plank and hold it. Baby cobra. Downward dog. Come to the top of your mat. And as Phil moved us through the class the lights were turned on a little brighter and the music got louder and I literally could not hear anything he was saying as his voice strained against the music through his mask (we are still wearing masks because of COVID). 

I was miserable. As the class progressed I became increasingly agitated and frustrated. I could not hear anything Phil was saying; I had to visually follow what others were doing, copying their movement to go from one pose to the next.  My frustration grew to the point that I felt like I wanted to bolt, and after about 30 minutes, I took advantage of a perfect moment and without disrupting the class, scooped up my minimal belongings and left. 

My flip-flops were at the ready, waiting for me to step right into them and out the door. My drive home was void of any sound. I barely breathed.