Waking Energy 7 Timeless Practices Designed to Reboot Your Body and Unleash Your Potential

8
go deep, open, and energize: yin yoga
One sunny afternoon at Alan Finger’s studio, Be Yoga, on 19th Street and Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, I
had just finished a dynamic vinyasa practice taught by one of my favorite teachers. I should have been
looking forward to my reward for working so hard, and what is always my favorite part of any yoga
class—final relaxation in savasana. Instead, as my eyes swept over the rainbow of yoga mats,
watching a sea of thirty-plus sweaty bodies contentedly cozying in for their dessert, I braced for the
inevitable. For months, my lower back had been plaguing me. I was worried. I’d been seeing massage
and physical therapists without much relief, and even acupuncture didn’t help as it always had. On
some days, it got so bad that I couldn’t even bend down to tie my own shoes.
The airy studio, with its soaring ceilings and ornate crown molding, in one of my favorite
buildings in the Flatiron district, had always been my refuge, the place I could count on to right my
world. But lately it only served as a reminder of how hopeless I had started to feel.
The sunlight streamed in through the grand, arched windows, and the third chime of the bell
signaled perfect quiet. It should have been the cue to my body that it was time to rest and receive, but
instead of being able to let go, I was bearing up against the overwhelming frustration—silencing a
primal scream. As I started to extend my legs along the floor, the pain was so intense that I nearly
started to cry. Looking up to the ceiling through gritted teeth, I whispered desperately, How could this
be happening to me?
I’d been successful at keeping my lower-back issue a secret while I was performing, but when the
music stopped and I was confronted by deep stillness, I couldn’t pull off the simplest of pedestrian
movements without being in absolutely torturous pain, and I had no idea why. When I could no longer
“push” and muscle through as I was accustomed to, in those moments of quiet when my body was
supposed to be supporting me in relaxing and releasing, I felt as though it was betraying me. Little did
I know that it was trying desperately to be heard.
After class, my eyes caught a flyer on the announcement board advertising a “Yin/Yang
Workshop,” which offered long-held “cooling balancing poses” after a vigorous “heating” practice. I
was intrigued. Somehow, it seemed the answer to my prayers. And I needed a miracle. I was in the
midst of producing, choreographing, and performing in a large-scale production at Lincoln Center. My
show was less than a month away from opening, and I couldn’t afford to let anyone know how much I