led intermediate, so it begins

I lost count at how many breaths exactly, but I knew that if were to survive the rest of the class I had to somehow lower my bakasana, which I entered into with straight arms. Sharathji had called the first inhale and exhale and then paused, perhaps he started to engage with our audience, a lobby bursting at the seams with new students eager to watch last Monday’s led intermediate class. There might have been as many spectators as there were participants; it was unusually roomy in the shala and we took the liberty of spreading out beyond the red marks that designate the mat placement on the floor.

On my first trip to Mysore in 2010, led intermediate filled just about two, three rows. By the time I entered the room in 2013, the space was filling up with breakneck speed as our teacher Sharath Jois moved students forward in the practice. First, the stage filled up, then the spaces in front of the offices, finally, the passage way between the last two rows. Last season, students were even practicing in the locker room. It seems that there are less intermediate students here this time around. This will surely change over the weeks and months ahead, but for now I am enjoying the extra bit of precious Mysore real estate.

Our master conductor checks on our postures during this intense session, often students get their pass or no pass here. For three grueling seasons, I returned only to hover precariously in ekapadasirsasana (the first of the leg behind the head postures). Class after class I would receive a sign to stop and go finish in the ladies’ locker room. Once, after what I thought was a fair go at it, I looked up to see Sharathji slowly slice the air in front of his neck, pretty much the most difinitive “no” he’d ever given me, I rolled up my mat and wondered if I would ever finish the class. With time and practice, change is inevitable and I have a greater understanding with how these postures can naturally give birth to one another. Here, you are led only as far as you can truly go, and until he says so, there you will wait.

These regular checks are the main cause of some of the longest holds of my life, each overly quick vinyasa, each separated heel in dhanurasana, every flailing leg in ekapada, and flexed toe in dwipada can delay the entire flow of the class; everyone must hold the pose as if suspended in time until the the corrections are made and Sharathji resumes his counting. Like led primary, the practice feels personal (everyone has their own experience, their pitfalls, their “ah-ha” moments, their special moments of contact with the Boss). At the same time, the process is collective. We are meant to go through it together.

In discussions with fellow students after last Monday’s led, we wondered if this could be the hardest class on the planet? Even with these built in “stalls”—there are rare moments to catch your breath, for example, in karandavasana as he lifts people out of it—the pace is pretty grueling and continuous throughout the journey of intense backbends, extreme forward bends with leg or legs behind the head, arm balances. With Sharath, there is no space or time for cheating. You cannot take a breather and then catch up with the rest of the class, each vinyasa is sharply accounted for, the transitions and postures are deftly woven together into this incredible roller coaster ride, frightening and thrilling all at once.

Despite the physicality of it, second series truly works deep within the nervous system. The movements (all the extending, flexing, twisting and straightening of the spine) seem to squeeze out so much of our excesses, there just isn’t much room in these postures for much else, let alone distractions, self-doubt, or fear.

Whatever anxiety I started out with (after almost a year of no led intermediate, I was pretty nervous), seemed to just burn off in that room. Not that it was easy; for me, at least, it was definitely not easy. But the amazing thing is that somehow, no matter how difficult, I did get through it, I did manage to override all the thoughts and feelings, the exhaustion, the panic, etc, emerging with so much calm and gratitude towards the practice and especially towards my teacher, who reminded me once again why I am here, why I practice, and why I continue to return to Mysore, year after year.

Somehow, I feel like this last led intermediate really helped me land in Mysore, finally. It set the pace, pulling me out of the funny rhythms of self-practice, which in my case, with life in Cairo, can be erratic at best. It’s quite a sight to behond, it’s true—I understand why people like to watch it—but I think it’s extraordiness exists in the experience of the class itself, how Sharathji pulls you out of yourself, tuning you into a harmonious moving, breathing song of strength and, of course, surrender.

I must say, before closing, that I don’t think you have to be practicing or completing intermediate to have this kind of experience. Deep practice is not exclusive to advanced āsana. And to be pushed outside our comfort zones happen a million different ways here in Mysore, inside the shala and outside on the street. What’s interesting about led intermediate is how that depth is so acccessible, so tangible in a moving, breathing mass; the method comes alive in this context, the body is our vehicle, the 8 limbs are the engines with our teacher driving us towards a greater understanding of ourselves.