Quit Your Day Job

Today's mantra: Relax your mind.

Posture Clinic. It sounds very medical, images of people in white coats prodding you as you stand half naked in a cold room. And the emotional experience is somewhat the same.

For our purposes, posture clinic is something like an endless audition or workshop. There is set instructional text for every pose in the Bikram series, the infamous "dialogue." We are supposed to memorize it verbatim. My teacher training agreement included a clause that I would not vary the dialogue in any manner whatsoever. In posture clinic, every student gets up, one by one, and teaches the pose, using the dialogue, while other students demonstrate the pose.

Normally, this will be done before a group of other students, and a couple teachers who grade you on accuracy, delivery, etc. For the first pose, however, the whole class (approximately 200) is together, and delivers the dialogue for Bikram.

You always know when Bikram's going to enter the room, because someone prepares his seat beforehand. Everything we do happens in the same room, usually -- yoga class, posture clinic, lectures. We sit on the floor in these little purple numbers called backjacks -- somewhat like camping chairs that sit on the ground, but smaller and far less comfortable. In the front center of the room is the podium, nearly four feet high, where teachers stand during class. Most of the podium is occupied by a huge white leather chair, which only Bikram can sit in, supposedly. If he lectures, the seat will be covered by a special terrycloth cover featuring the school logo, and a pink and orange towel that says, "Hot Stuff." Tonight, he sits front and center of the students in a low beach chair, covered with towels. An assistant sometimes sits by him in class to brush his hair or bring beverages as needed. (I will specify that I have yet to see Craig brush his hair. I doubt I ever will.)

No amount of theater training or experience has ever accustomed me to the sound of my own voice in a microphone. Even though I know the dialogue cold, I'm fully prepared to lose it and blank when I get up there. Some of the students have never even stood up before this many people before, and it's harrowing for them. They can barely speak into the microphone, or the experience brings them to tears. This pose isn't graded. Bikram's just there to get a sense of personalities, give general feedback on delivery:

"You're going to KILL them! Very good. Next."
"It's very sweet. You need more iron. More tiger. Like her."
"You have a good voice. Just needs to be faster."
"What you eat for breakfast? Nails and bullets? Good."

The French man delivering dialogue right now has such a lovely voice. Reminds me of my friend Fabrice. Makes me want to marry him. I'm a big fan of Team France. They're all strong, beautiful and entertaining. They sit together, share jamba juice and pat each other on the back during posture clinic.

I've been thinking too much this whole week. Bikram says that our mind is our worst enemy. it's very true. I get in my own way constantly. It makes my classes so much harder than they need to be. My mantra this week has been relax your mind, relax your mind, relax your mind. That comes at the end of a relaxation exercise some teachers give at the end of class. I don't know if it's working.

When I got up, I tested the mike, to get used to my own voice. "Hellooo."
Bikram: "Say that again."
"Helloooo."
"One more time."
"Helloooo."
Bikram looks around. "Wow, that's sexy, no?" Laughter. Someone in the crowd shouts, "Say it again." I do. I'll take any good start.

I spit out the dialogue in a blur, focusing on one student, but seeing nothing. Halfway through, my hand starts shaking, then my right leg and the right half of my ass. I'm convinced everyone can see. When I'm done, there is, thank god, no painful pause before people clap. (We clap for everything, by the way. Have I mentioned that?) I don't know what to expect. I'm hoping for neutral-to-good. I just don't want him to kill me. Not that he's killed anyone yet. But he still scares the shit out of me.

Bikram: "Where you from?"
"DC."
"The fourth floor?" (Bikram Yoga Dupont is a 4th floor walkup).
"Yeah -- now it's the 2nd and 4th floors."
"How long you practice?"
"Two and a half years."
"Why it take you so long to get here?"
"Well, I always said I had a day job, but then I got laid off..."
"You don't need that shitty job. You know why?"
"Why."
"Because I give you job here in LA!"
"Uh... thank you."
"Seriously, you keep in touch with me after training."
"Okay. Thank you."
"Anywhere in the world you want to teach, you let me know."

My first thought is "London," but I can only muster another "thank you." Damn. I didn't even have to spit nails or brush his hair for it.