Valentine's Day Flying Yoga

On what I think counts as a Valentine’s Day Date, Mark and I went to a Flying Yoga class. This is where one goes to a yoga studio at the local YMCA that has reinforced girders along the ceiling where one can use carabiners to hang silk ribbons or TRX suspension exercise equipment or, as in our case, little short hammocks with side stirrups for one’s hands or feet.

I went into the class expecting it to be more like silk flying than it actually was. While I do some yoga-inspired stretches—I’m a “yogi-by-marriage”—I’d much rather do something like tai-chi. It’s a safe bet to say that I’ve got some of the world’s tightest hamstrings and hips. It was probably a good thing that the instructor reminded us to breathe.

There was an erotic (and distracting) moment seeing Mark swinging in his hammock, and I had to think unsexy thoughts and remind myself that a Y studio wasn’t an appropriate space for a visual orgy of passionate, tantric yoga. We did a few showy power-lunge swings, but no fear that things got out of hand: I had a protein bar snack about ninety minutes before class, and I had sipped some tea about an hour before; this combined with some of the rotational swinging and extended periods upside-down was nauseating. In retrospect, I should have stopped all consumption two hours ahead of time.

Hanging was more comfortable once I unraveled my hammock from a rope into more of a stretchy band. Meanwhile, Mark was hanging upside-down, back arched, holding both feet behind his back. I think my best stretch was a hanging moment early on with my left ankle on my right hip. Mark’s best stretch was a “cheating crow stand” that the instructor was ecstatic about. I would try Flying Yoga again, on an emptier stomach and with the recognition that it’s still yoga, and not an intro to Cirque du Soleil Power Silk Moves.