| As someone who tries to be gluten free, it is a rare day when you see me with a sandwich. Every day in grade school I was sent skipping off to class with the same lunch: cheddar cheese melted on italian bread with a fruitopia (look it up if you don't remember). So, I blame habit for my constant craving; the satisfactory crunch of evenly layered and varied contents just barely making it into my gaping gob. But who says a sandwich has to be made with bread? To sandwich is a verb! When I'm doing my morning commute on the 1 train, you can bet it isn't sourdough that has my arms pinned to my sides. | |
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 My generation of New Yorkers tends to have less and less regard for where we do what we do. Work from your tiny apartment coffee table? Great. Squats and push-ups in your bedroom-gym hybrid space? No problem. Spontaneous photo shoot in the middle of the street? Cool. Business calls in the middle of Starbucks? Hear ‘em all the time. In our incremental transfer to the digital world, it’s easy to forget how powerful a physical place can be.  There’s something about fall mornings in NYC that makes me want to get out and run. It always seems strange to me, not being the running type of person. Maybe it’s the colder temperatures, or the fact that everyone is officially back to work and school, but as soon as that crisp, crunchy-leaf smell fills the air, my body craves a morning run. I think the farmers have it right- getting the hard physical labor done first makes the rest of the day seem so much easier.  “Class was great, my shoulders feel good. Thanks for not hurting me,” my new student says to me as she exits class. I’m delighted that she’s enjoyed her practice, but dumbfounded at her parting words. Students get hurt in class? And it's teachers that hurt them? That seems rather backwards to me. Injuries from yoga practice are not unheard of, but they should be. |
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