Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Matthew MacKenzie
Studio: Prana Shanti

In the heat, as beads of sweat build up and trickle down my my body, I have visions of a Balinese sun. It beats down from high overhead. I'm in the jungle. I hear an orchestra of insects harmonizing with a symphony of tropical birds. The lush plant life surrounds me in this exotic paradise. My mat is stretched out in a clearing and I'm dancing through the physics of tradition. Suddenly I sense eyes watching me from the edge of the forest, camouflaged in the foliage. Squinting against the blinding sunshine, my eyes meet with the eyes of a massive crouching tiger. It can tell I've noticed it and it hunches down in the tall grass, lying in wait. Before I have a chance to turn and run for my life, it leaps out of its hiding place and races at me, letting out a ferocious growl. It bears down on me and leaps into the air, claws extended, white teeth flashing in the sun. I feel its body crash into me, tearing my skin and pinning me to the ground. I can feel her teeth sink in as her full weight rests on top of me. I can't move. As my blood begins to flow and form a puddle around me, staining the grass in vibrant red, I struggle and writhe for an escape. It's impossible. Her powerful jaws pull the flesh from my bones and I submit to my fate. My heart continues to pound as I'm violently torn limb from limb, my consciousness refusing to flicker out and spare me from this horror movie. Soon her cubs make their appearance. They close in around their mother, inspecting their newly captured meal. I hear them sniffing and grunting, hungrily scratching new wounds on the canvas of my body. Like psychopathic tattoo artists they redesign my appearance. I can feel the heat from their breath as they begin to feed, their hot tongues as they lap up the flowing blood. The family of tigers rest in a circle around me, enjoying a lazy afternoon snack under the jungle canopy, concealing any evidence of my murder. The contents of my stomach are revealed, my organs strewn out around me, shredded beyond recognition. All I can do is watch helplessly as I'm eaten alive. I feel no pain but I wonder why I haven't died yet. I'm absolutely alive and forced to watch. Now and then my eyes lock with the eyes of the giant cat, her feral feline stare piercing my soul. I sense mild compassion trumped by indifference. The show must go on, the circle of life unstoppably continues its spiral.

My mind is not focused on this yoga class. I'm not quite halfway around the world yet but I'm not here either. I'm lost in a hallucination. Will I be devoured by my dream? All the things I've been working on, will they be my final demise? Will the end I've been working towards eventually break me? Will I be massacred by my own creations?

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Michael Dynie
Studio: Rama Lotus

It's Tuesday night and an attempted return to normalcy. The best way I know how is a classic evening Ashtanga. I'm ready for a solid Vinyasa cleanse, a powerful, structured choreography to bring my feet back to solid ground. I welcome the traditional regime and discipline of the style.

As it happens, I somehow managed to smash my knee over the course of a busy day. Back at home later I realize it's not as bad as I'd thought, but it's still the closest thing to an injury I've had for the entire challenge. Ashtanga can be very knee-intensive so tonight I'll tread cautiously. I'll do my best to let my body be my guide and keep my ego out of the equation. If I'm not coping with the advanced variations I hope I can hold back and not worry about saving face in the group of Ashtangis. If I complicate my life with an avoidable injury I'll make Bali way harder than it needs to be. I'm not trying to fight my own design or damage my progress. All day I've been looking forward to a duel with the brainchild of K. Pattabhi Jois. A return to the familiarity of my old routine is too good to pass up. Shanti shanti shanti.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Michael Dynie
Studio: Rama Lotus

Now that was awkward. Tonight I managed to bring someone with me to yoga who has never tried it. I had to basically drag him there but in the end it was mostly voluntary. Anyway, this friend, Chris, has never really done yoga and doesn't really know anything about it. I was able to get him in a studio once. It was a wall-to-wall packed Bikram class and he absolutely hated it. This time around I decided a low-key, evening Ashtanga would be more his style. Not only is it one of my favourite classes, I thought it would work because it's straight to the point and the physical benefits can be felt right away. As soon as we unrolled our mats, I was suddenly unbelievably self-conscious. All of a sudden the whole thing was weird. Yoga is weird. Exercising with people is weird. Chanting is weird. It's like I was seeing the experience through someone else's eyes, some theoretical, hypothetical, self-imagined yoga-hater. I felt myself cringing as the class moved through the first three Om's. I could feel the blood rushing to my face and I was probably blushing so intensely that I thought I might permanently burn my skin. Trust me, it's not impossible to Om through clenched teeth, but it does produce an out of key, awkward warble which did nothing to alleviate the embarrassment. I sounded like a lost cat with a hangover. Even in the poses I had no concentration. My mind was suddenly a fist-pumping frat boy wondering "dude, don't they do yoga in India? Let's grab a beer." The whole thing was a hokey, superstitious mess, something you might do in a cult and a complete waste of time.

When the class was over I couldn't even ask him how his experience was. I disappeared out of the room quickly, alone. After changing and getting back outside, I took a deep breath of fresh air and tried to shake off my adolescent insecurities. I don't care how the world sees me. If something is different it's instantly weird. I can't cater to the infinity of conflicting perspectives. Everyone kills everyone else because they can't agree on anything. Now everyone is scared to be themselves. They choose one of a few pre-constructed personalities then try to live by the corresponding rule book. I can only live for me. I'll be uniquely myself until my death. It was at this point Chris interrupted my internal motivational speech.

"Class was pretty cool tonight. I think I'll come back with you next Wednesday."

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Basia Going
Studio: Adishesha

Third time's the charm. After a beautiful day in the Sun, basking in the warmth of life with friends and family, I'm on my way to Adishesha Yoga Zone. I've been to this small, cozy studio a few times now. I've heard high praise for the owner, Basia Going, from both Mark Laham and Todd Lavictoire. The last two attempts I've made to get in on one of her classes she's been mysteriously out of the country, off on some international yoga business in Costa Rica.

Walking into the spacious, one-room studio out of the blistering heat and unrolling my mat on the hardwood floor, my curiosity is peaked. The hype has built up over the course of the challenge and I can't help but wonder if my expectations could overshadow the experience. As Basia floated through the room collecting cards, I closed my eyes and tried to let go of my pre-concieved ideas. Music started to flow out of the speakers and moments later we all rose to our feet. The proceedings began and Basia's instruction carried me through the familiar Ashtangi motions, holding the space with a quiet confidence. As we got deeper into the flow, she came over and made slight adjustments to my poses, subtly shifting or contorting the positioning of my posture. Each time she did, I felt myself gain deeper access, sinking in further then I've ever been up to this point. A few well-placed changes made a world of difference, completely reinventing the asanas for me. After a few of those I realized that Basia was completely living up to the high praise she had received. By the end of the class I was satisfied, walking back out into the warm air with that priceless post-yoga buzz. Even in the twilight of my personal challenge, things continue to remain interesting and intriguing. It's an endless journey and in reality, it's only just begun.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Michael Dynie
Studio: Rama Lotus

I'm going to Texas. I've never been, but tomorrow morning I'm scheduled to be on a flight to Austin. One of my yoga instructors, Ichih, is going to a workshop with her mentor, Baron Baptiste. A few weeks ago she told me about her trip and invited me to join. One of my favorite authors, Kurt Vonnegut, has a quote that came to mind: "Unexpected Travel Plans are dancing lessons from God." Not long ago I put out the intention that I was ready to do some international yoga travel, and the opportunity seems to have found me. In turn I've decided to accept. After all, who am I not to tie up my dancing shoes after an invitation from on high?

I don't know all that much about Mr. Baptiste. I do know that I am a huge fan of Power Vinyasa and Ichih's teaching style. I also know that Baron is very, very successful in the world of yoga, even considered a celebrity in some circles. While the notion of a celebri-yogi is a bit off-putting, Ichih holds him in high regard and that says a lot to me. I have nothing if not an open mind, and I told the Universe that I was ready for an adventure. I'm always prepared for a new experience. Getting into bed and setting my alarm for an early departure, I feel a tingling blend of excitement and nervous energy coursing through my body. I truly have no idea what to expect. Getting off the phone after scheduling a cab to pick me up at 5 am, I can't seem to fall asleep. My mind is reeling in anticipation. In a few short hours I'll be out of the country, headed deep into the southern United States. There is one thing I know for sure. I'm ready.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Sharath Rangaswamy (DVD)
Studio: Home Practice

With my trip to Toronto cut short by unfortunate circumstances, I'm onboard a small propeller plane with Annie, closing the gap between me and my hometown. One thing about life is that it is absolutely unpredictable. Everything can change drastically from one moment to the next, turning upside down and inside out. Things happen fast. The Earth spins 1,038 miles per hour, moving around the Sun at about 67,000 miles per hour. Time passes at an unfathomably fast rate, disappearing in a blur. It's not something you can pin down and plan around. Reality is liquid, flowing where it may, changing direction on a dime without notice. The only choice we have is to enjoy it while we have it, to breathe while we have lungs to fill, to laugh whenever we can, to love as fully as possible. Sometimes it's difficult to see and feel appreciation for everything we have, everything we hold dear. Sometimes we forget the magic contained in every one of our moments. Looking through photos of my Grandfathers time spent here, I see a life fully lived. Talking to people who have been touched by his generosity, sense of humor, his willingness to help in any way he could, I'm gaining a valuable insight. I want to make an impact on people's lives like he did, to help in any way I can. I want to embody his strength and carry it with me for the rest of my days. I want to live by his example, to exude his infinite patience, to live as selflessly as he did. I want to take life seriously and make a tangible difference. I want to seize the day like he did, to make my life as extraordinary as his was. I want to care for humanity with every fiber of my being, to show compassion, humility, understanding and forgiveness. I want to live with integrity, passion, joy and hope. If I can maintain even the smallest fraction of the strength and love he had, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I can change the world. I love you Papa.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Nina Singh Jass
Studio: Yoga Sanctuary

Post-Apocalyptic yoga? Waking up in the early afternoon, my sister Annie and I head out into the rainy streets and make our way over to College and Young for an Ashtanga session at the Yoga Sanctuary. Walking in through the doors of the old building, we make our way up a long winding staircase, spiraling around an old-fashioned elevator shaft enclosed in a black cage. As we reach the top floor, we walk through the door marked "Sanctuary". The studio is a gorgeous and massive room with an antique cabinet against the far wall housing wooden blocks, straps and blankets. Unrolling my mat and settling down on my back, my gaze wanders across the arching twenty-foot ceilings with slightly chipping, peeling paint. Listening to the pouring rain hammering down on the roof, my imagination kicks into high gear. Suddenly I'm vividly envisioning life in a crumbling, broken city after the fall of modern civilization. Moving through the familiar Ashtanga poses, my mind's eye paints images of chaos and destruction and the word sanctuary takes on new meaning. I imagine the outside, war-torn world, full of black helicopters circling overhead, mobs in the streets rioting, looting and pillaging. Massive explosions rumble in the distance like guttural growls, rocking the foundation of the building we're practicing in. I hear screaming, panic, disorder and confusion outside in the torrential downpour as the world stage is set on fire. Coming out of a spinal twist and entering final savasana, I can hear the angry barbarians three floors down, the decrepit survivors of the old world pounding on the barred doors. The thunderous attack on the entrance sends hellish reverberations echoing up the stairwell of the old building. I can hear the hinges starting to give way under the weight and force of a battering-ram and I know it will only be a matter of seconds before they snap and the ravenous mob comes spilling inside. As I focus on my third eye, I hear the doors crash open, followed by the sound of a legion of footsteps clambering and thumping up the stairs like drums in the deep. Soon the invading hoards will be at the doors of the sanctuary, forcing their way in. The bloodthirsty marauders will descend upon us, devouring the peaceful yogis, ripping us limb from limb. The end of the world is upon us, a black eternal night enveloping Mother Earth, ushering humanity back into the dark ages once and for all.

Leaving the studio and walking outside, opening my umbrella to shield myself from the crying sky, the world has not come to an end just yet. The gears are still rotating, the traffic is still flowing. The Sun will still rise again. Making our way up the avenue, Annie drops a bombshell. She has booked me a full body massage nearby, complete with luxurious aroma therapy, hot oils and enchanting Reiki energy work. Entering back into the real world in a blissful stupor, my Apocalyptic fantasies have fallen to the wayside. This planet is still beautiful despite its flaws and misgivings. I haven't given up on us yet.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Sharath Rangaswamy (DVD)
Studio: Home Practice

"Do your practice and all is coming." Tonight I've decided to expand on my home practice, setting sail with a traditional Ashtanga sequence. Sharath Rangaswamy is the grandson of Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, the founder of the Ashtanga method. He is often described as the most advanced Ashtanga yoga practitioner in the world today, and is now the director of the Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute in Mysore, India.

Sliding the disc into my laptop I'm transported into a quaint, minimalist room, listening to Sharath start things off with the traditional Ashtanga opening chant. This is designed to honor the wisdom of the teachers who have passed down the ancient yoga traditions, helping to mark a division between your everyday activities and the personal voyage you are about to embark on. I'm at home in my dimly lit room, settling back into my own world. The atmosphere is beginning to take on a life of its own, leaving me with the impression of studying in a remote Indian temple, practicing under the direct guidance of the master himself. The evening is unfolding in a natural extension of last night, moving me in and out of the poses with gently focused attention and the calming flow of the Ujjayi breath. Again I'm noticing the chemistry of my mind find a balance, an equilibrium with the Universe around me. It doesn't take long until that familiar heat begins to build inside me once more.

The sequence is the classic, traditional primary series taught as it would be in Mysore. Sharath uses Sanskrit terminology, calling each pose by its original name, not providing much more instruction beyond that. It's designed for students who are already familiar with the style. Sharath is extremely well-known to Ashtanga yogis for his accomplished personal practice and precise teaching methods.

Before I come to my senses, I'm easing out of final savasana with a calm mind, completely undisturbed. The utter silence is unbelievably nourishing and refreshing, drawing me deeper into a peaceful quiet. I find myself dreamily enjoying the absence of language and verbiage flickering through my consciousness, feeling my muscles soften and relax. The serenity is truthfully difficult to describe. Any words I could use would only serve to create distance between me and the purely natural, visceral experience. Instead of grasping for a collection of nouns, verbs and adjectives strung together with grammar and punctuation, tonight I'm simply going to release and let go, surrendering into the indefinable, inexpressible, ineffable expanse of existence. Tomorrow I'm traveling to Toronto to visit my sister Annie, taking the opportunity to explore yoga in the big city.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Michael Dynie
Studio: Rama Lotus

There's nothing like the internal fire built during an Ashtanga sequence. Feeling the inferno raging through my veins, cleansing and detoxifying my blood, I'm basking in the sensation of being fully alive.

Today at Rama Lotus in the Sky room, I'm working on the subtleties of the practice. My drishti, my gaze, is responding to my control with ease. More so then ever before I'm able to hold my focused attention on a single point and leave it there. Little by little, with a small amount of effort applied every day, the progress is tangible. Where our eyes are directed, our attention follows, and our attention is the most important thing we have. It's the source of all our power, the starting point for creation.

Another aspect of Ashtanga I was able to incorporate tonight is the concept of the bandhas. A bandha is an inner lock, or bind. I've often heard instructors speak of them, but I had never been able to cultivate it into my practice until today. The specific lock I was able to integrate is known as the Mūla Bandha, often used in the the Ashtanga practice. The Sanskrit term Mūla denotes "root" or "base", and is engaged at the root of the spine. More precisely, it's at the centre of the pelvic floor called the perineum. By slightly contracting this muscle-tissue, an energetic seal is created that is said to lock prana into the body and prevent it from leaking out at the base of the spine.

As the raging fires within begin to die down and I sink into savasana, I feel the deepest, most blissful relaxation begin to set in. True relaxation has to be earned. Relaxation is not synonymous with laziness. If you are lazy, you have no access to true relaxation. You need to apply yourself. You need to work hard. Giving as much of yourself as you can, giving your strongest efforts and most fiery passion, this is the doorway to the deepest most freeing sense of relaxation. This is what truly makes the yogic experience so worthwhile. It's time to reap those benefits as my head sinks into my pillow, overcome with appreciation as my consciousness withdraws itself from my physical shell.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Daniel Mendoza
Studio: Santosha Elgin

Ashtanga is a conversation with the solar system. After my last two struggles with Yin at home, I'm feeling safe and sound tonight in a familiar Ashtanga sequence. I'm finding refuge in it's physical nature. I'm zoned out, working up a sweat and breathing deeply. My mind is on hiatus, focused only on the choreography, the procession of the poses. Daniel Mendoza is a very technical instructor, making subtle adjustments to posture and providing fuel to keep my mind lightly engaged. Building a strong internal heat and fencing with an invisible opponent, before I know it the hour and a half is over. I'm thankful for the day off my monkey-mind seems have taken. The magic of practicing yoga in a class setting is the truly palpable exchange of energy. As everyone moves synchronistically in a shared ritual, the energy in the room seems to build and take on a life of it's own. At the risk of trailing off into a lengthy metaphysical tangent, I'm going to opt to shut down the laptop for the night. I'm under my covers with one foot already in the dreamworld, another early morning just around the bend. Namaste.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Daniel Mendoza
Studio: Santosha Elgin

It's day 30 and I'm still alive. This week has been the hardest yet. I've had no energy, collapsing soon after most yoga classes. I've had to work harder then ever to get myself to the studio again and again. At the second Ashtanga in a row with Dan, I'm growing to enjoy his style of teaching even more. His delivery is very calm. Tonight he spoke of three important elements of Ashtanga. The first and most important is the breath. This is a recurring theme in every style of yoga I've tried. In Ashtanga, the technique is called the Ujjayi breath, and basically sounds like the Ocean or Darth Vader. Many teachers describe it as the way you breathe if you were fogging a piece of glass, only your mouth is closed. The air released through your constricted throat is a powerful, directed breath that you can send into different areas of your body that need it during a sequence. The second element is known as the Bandhas. Bandha is the term used to describe a muscular contraction or lock, and in Ashtanga yoga it causes a feeling of root strength, a physical and mental lightness. The root bandha is said to cut through brahma granthi, the energetic knot of our resistance to change. The third and final element he focused on is known as the Drishti, or gaze. When you place and hold your gaze on a fixed point, it purifies and stabilizes the functioning of the mind. Like most things, this is much easier in theory then in practice, and my mind has been known to disobey direct orders. The more I study yoga, the more I understand just how sophisticated it is. The more I learn, the more I realize there is to learn. It's a journey with no final destination.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Daniel Mendoza
Studio: Santosha Elgin

My eyelids weigh a thousand pounds each. I squeeze them shut tightly, then open them again. With blurred vision I'm looking at four out-of-focus laptops slowly circling in front of me. Digital black and white writing is warping and bending on the electronic screen. My head is heavy, hanging at an awkward, twisted angle, trying to stare at a hazy keyboard. After 8 hours of school, a midterm and an Ashtanga class, I'm struggling to maintain consciousness. A 6 am start time looms over my head like a guillotine, only a few short hours from now. While it's true that ninety consecutive yoga classes are exhausting at times, the writing, documenting and digesting of each day, trying to understand my condition and studying it as it comes... that is taking its toll on me.

Tonight was my first time meeting Daniel Mendoza. Having trained in martial arts from an early age, he discovered Ashtanga while studying Muay Thai and kickboxing. The set up for the class felt like a martial arts studio, with two rows of mats facing each other and space in the middle where he walked up and down. He led the class through an intermediate series, keeping the instruction flowing at a fast pace with a heavy use of Sanskrit.

The act of practicing yoga when I truly don't feel like it, then writing about the experience and examining its effect, is intense. It feels like it's accelerating the process in comparison with last years ninety days. I can see now that the true challenge for the next 61 days will be the daily focusing of thought and converting it into language. The writing and understanding, the honest reflection on self. One third of the way in and the seas can really get rough. I feel like I'm on a rickety boat with a tattered sail out in the middle of dark vast infinity. To engage my mind and synthesize my experience when it desperately wants to shut off, power down and recharge is the real struggle. I know it's an absolute necessity that I continue to input every single day without fail. One false step will destroy the whole project. There can be no turning back. I can't afford to jeopardize the entire mission for a few extra hours of sleep.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Michael Dynie
Studio: Rama Lotus

I missed the bus. Arriving at the station ten minutes too late, I've just been informed that the next departure is at 2:30 am. My options are either to wait here for three hours and get to Montreal around 5 am or go home, get some sleep and get on the early bus, starting my day fresh. I can't help but feel frustrated; I had plans of climbing aboard and relaxing back in my seat, writing my thoughts of tonight's Ashtanga class. Now I'm stranded at the station with all my luggage at midnight.

Flashback three hours ago. I'm warm on my mat working my way through a challenging Ashtanga sequence. My friend, here for the first time, is realizing that yoga isn't exactly what he'd expected. Regardless, he is a good sport and true to his word. In the end, it even seemed like he enjoyed the experience.

Talking to him before class, I found it interesting that his preconceived notion of yoga wasn't so much thinking it an easy, simple process or flaky, pseudo-spiritual nonsense. It was more that it seemed to be a trendy, shallow fad. Just another "in" thing to do, no different then going to Starbucks or a tanning salon. I can understand the perspective. There is sometimes a subtle, underlying pretentiousness in the yoga world. This is something I can definitely expand on when I'm not sitting at a bleak, deserted bus station in the middle of the night. The reality is, even if you came to yoga strictly for the superficial benefits, you can't escape the inner shift that slowly begins to occur.

Weighing my options, I've decided to weather the storm and take the 2:30 bus under the stars. The thought of waking curled up with my sweetheart is just too exquisite to pass up.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Michael Dynie
Studio: Rama Lotus

You know what's really annoying? Introducing someone to yoga, then three classes later they're already doing headstands with no wall support. After dragging myself through countless classes I'm only now coming to that point.

On that note, another element of yoga I've had to get my head around is that ever-prevailing spirit of competition. In our culture the idea of measuring yourself against your fellow human is perpetuated from every angle, in everything from our obsession with sports to climbing the ladder of success in the (rat race) working world. Based on its roots and early teachings, yoga should truly be devoid of that mentality, but as you might imagine, it's easier said then done. Reflecting back on past classes I'm aware that - especially early on - if I was suffering in something like the Warrior sequence, the solitary thought I sometimes clung to was a stubborn drive to outlast my closely neighboring yogis. The thought of saving face and sparing my ego carried me through some tough moments. When I look at it, it's really the reason I find practicing at home so hard. Alone, literally just me and my mind, it feels ten times harder to give a hundred percent. That much more difficult to take the poses all the way to their edge. Alone in the void it was only too easy to come out of a pose if it became unbearable or if I "thought" I couldn't take it anymore. After all, who would see?...

Tonight I'm at Ashtanga with a few friends, and I catch myself doing it compulsively. Seemingly on their own accord my eyes steal glances of other students, analyzing and critiquing posture, subtly congratulating myself if I'm thinking I have better form in a particular pose or feeling envious of another's advanced variation. We always want the one-up, the advantage, the higher status. The prestige, the reputation, the success. Our egos love recognition. Again and again I have to reign in my thoughts like untrained, vicious dogs snarling at the end of their leashes.

I guess overall the idea is to really go within and study yourself... and if there needs to be competition, let it be between you your concept of you. Every human has totally different skeletal measurements, asymmetries, muscle structures, history of injury. One could take naturally to flexible poses but struggle with the strength-based aspect, and vice versa. Individual people have completely different biochemical combinations, each as unique as one fingerprint from another. So I'll focus on that lesson like a mantra, letting it sink in overnight. Tomorrow I'll contradict myself completely and sadistically enjoy watching a smack-talking soon-to-be yogi getting tossed around in the tide at Wednesday nights class, before I take off with a bus ticket and a paycheck to explore the Montreal side of yoga for a few days.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Michael Dynie
Studio: Rama Lotus


Namaste. Ashtanga round two. Day ten! Officially in the double digits. On to the next one. A bad habit of mine during the last challenge was constantly showing up two minutes before class started. Basically, I would wait around until the last minute, realize that I was probably going to be late, franticly run to my car fumbling with the keys, throw my yoga bag in the back seat then tear out of my driveway in a cloud of dust. Praying I would only encounter green lights, I'd race across the city and screech into a parking spot three minutes before class was about to begin, scramble into the change room, tangle myself up in my clothes, grab my water bottle and stumble into class seconds before it began, finding myself the last available slice of floor to unroll my mat and lay there, gasping for air. Very Zen. If the idea for yoga is to bring about peace of mind and a general calm to your state of being, then leading up to class I practice anti-yoga.. rushing as fast as I can getting as frazzled and stressed as possible. True story: Once, late for a class and not paying complete attention, I ended up cutting off a cop half a block from the studio. He blasted on his sirens and pulled up beside me, asking me "what the hell I thought I was doing." All I could do was stare back blinkingly. Shaking his head, he took off.. just another dazed yogi posing a hazard to the road.

Along with completing the challenge in one piece, another personal goal has been to arrive early to the studio and walk whenever I can. I can say I’ve only been late a few times so far (maybe last nights Ashtanga.. my bad Mike!), and I’ve even walked the distance through this deadly Canadian winter. I’ve rediscovered the beauty of foot transportation. With a few layers of warm clothes and some good music on my ipod, I’m growing to love it. Putting foot to earth is an immensely satisfying activity. You might think that the worst part would be the walk home, that after a long class, all you would want to do is climb into your warm, toasty car and jet back home as fast as possible. I've experienced the exact opposite. Coming out into the fresh air half-hidden under a cozy scarf, my heart has leapt out of my chest as the open road stretches out in front of me and I place one foot in front of the other, alone under the sky. Maybe life works the same way. All in all, it's all just one long pilgrimage.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Michael Dynie
Studio: Rama Lotus

I love Ashtanga. After this Yin-tensive week, it's good to be home. I think I'm slowly becoming that strange green dude from my childhood as my connective tissue turns to molasses. It feels good to step back into the ring and go pound for pound with an Ashtanga sequence.

The yogic apple of my eye is an ancient system popularized by K. Pattabhi Jois. The word Ashtanga means "eight limbs" in Sanskrit, which refers to the eight limbs described in the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. The style is characterized by a focus on Vinyasa, or a linking of breath. Essentially the breath dictates the movement and the length of time held in the postures. Ashtanga differs from some other yoga styles in that attention is placed on the journey between the postures and not just the postures themselves. Like the Bikram method, there is a set order of poses. However, they differ in two ways (at least); first of all, the teacher isn't bound to the sequence slavishly. There is a freedom to play with the order to some degree. Second is the complexity. Where Bikram consists of 26 poses, the primary series of Ashtanga consists of 75 and takes an hour and a half to two hours to complete. It starts with sun salutations and moves to standing poses, seated poses, inversions and backbends before relaxation. Due to time constraints, teachers usually have to pick and choose certain moves to leave out, but the overall structure always remains the same.

As we twist and bend in this late-night yoga class, passing through Warrior poses and binds, back-bends and headstands, it suddenly dawns on me. I'm happy. Even with my turning the practice of yoga into a 90-day marathon, I still absolutely love it. After all the Yin of the last few days, and the infinity-of-forever that are it's poses, I feel like the Ashtanga sequence is flying by me. Flowing from posture to posture, time blurs past and before I know it I'm sinking into final Savasana. Relaxation taking over, I close my eyes. This final pose is like a one way ticket for a flight off-planet, and I climb aboard my spacecraft. The countdown begins, and I levitate through the ceiling of the Sky room, passing through the clouds and the eye of the moon.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Mike Dynie
Studio: Rama Lotus

"Holy shit, I have 89 blog posts to write!" When I woke up this morning, this was the first thought in my mind. What have I gotten myself into? The struggle that the first yoga challenge presented was simply to attend ninety classes in a row. It was a purely physical challenge, and I looked at it completely in terms of surviving the experience. As the first month passed, however, I began to really understand the true nature of the challenge. The battle was on the inside. I came to realize that I had very little to no control over my own mind. Thoughts barged in whenever they pleased, traveling in packs, in swarms... non-stop fast-paced internal arguments arising uninvited, out of the blue. The real challenge was being drawn inward and forced to face myself.

This time around the challenge is that much larger. Not only to attend the ninety classes, but to really study and understand the inner changes that are taking place. To write in my own words specifically how I feel and what I'm experiencing. I'm used to finishing class with a blissful tired yoga-buzz and proceeding to chill out and let go. Now I have to take the time to self-analyze and really materialize new insights as they arise. To truly go within and pass through the fire, and to honestly consider the impact of the transformation.

That being said, there is still a massive physical aspect to this challenge. I guess I took a longer break from yoga than I'd thought, because today my legs are stiff as hell! On top of that, tonight I'm doing Ashtanga yoga, one of the most physically demanding styles of yoga in the world. It has also become my personal favorite. Not to say that it's better than any other style, but I absolutely love it. During the last ninety-day challenge, almost every tuesday night I took an Ashtanga class at Rama Lotus. Taught by a woman named Jacqueline Davis, they were some of my favorite moments of the yogic-experience. In 2010 however, the tuesday night class is being taught by Mike Dynie, a friend of mine. I've taken a few of his Ashtanga Basics classes last time around and they've been great. I'm interested to see his approach to the style teaching at a more advanced level.

Learning to stand on my head really has shown me the world from a different perspective.