Social Workout

Profiles

From Banker to Yogi by Way of Skinny Boyfriend

[Since we launched Social Workout, people have started to tell us their stories. Stories of how -- often after years on auto pilot -- they found an unexpected path to happiness and community in a new exercise routine, an inspired teacher, or a hole-in-the-wall studio or gym. We love those stories. Lauren emailed us to mention she was launching a new yoga studio on the Lower East Side. But wait, wasn't she just a banker at Morgan Stanley? Yes, she said, but that was until her boyfriend suggested she take a yoga class.... -The Eds.]

Not long ago, I was a Morgan Stanley banker with a 60 mile a week running habit. Yoga was not part of my vocabulary. I was a Wall Street lifer. Or at least a Wall Street lifestyler. Yogi? No way.

My path from banker to yogi began, oddly enough, with my forever skinny boyfriend. We were walking up the Bowery years ago, when I noticed that my thighs, peeking out from my Dad’s navy blue 1970s-era Adidas shorts, were huge. Double the size of his to be precise. How could that be? I was running all the time, and swimming, and even playing pick-up hoops around town whenever I could. Yes, I was working long hours, but that didn't explain what I was staring at beneath those vintage shorts. Admittedly, I was spazzing out like 20-something girls will do, and my boyfriend suggested I try yoga. I looked at him, rolled my eyes, and kept walking.

That said, the following Friday I decided to give it a chance. It was early enough that I could still get in a workout if the class was terrible. So I threw on my basketball clothes -- huge mesh shorts and t-shirt -- and grabbed a double espresso. I had read somewhere it would make me sweat in those "easy" yoga classes. Bad idea. I chugged it, walked into the center, and sat down for class.

I’ll spare you the details, but I almost died. So "almost" that I faked a cramp and walked out half way through, SOAKING in sweat and bewildered.

In disbelief about the severity of my ass-kicking, I returned to a yoga class at the same center a week later. This time I survived. Barely. Then I went back three days later. And then a day later. And then another day later. And then, and then, and then....  Long story short, I was suddenly practicing seven days a week.

And you know what? I NEVER felt better. My thighs got thinner, my abs and arms got chiseled, my ITB issues and bursitis disappeared. I felt like I was floating. Floating on the trading floor, down city streets, through parties. It was amazing.

The daily practice replaced hours of running, on treadmills and trails, and in fact became an addiction. I bought a mat (ME, a yoga mat?) and started taking it with me everywhere I went. Weekend trips out of the city, business trips out of the country, you name it.

Then one day, nine months ago, my first and foremost ass-kicking teacher, Kelly Morris, came up to me after class and suggested I do her teacher training program. A month later I started the Conquering Lion Teacher Training Program here in NYC, merely as an activity to distract me from the mayhem at work.

Before long I started teaching my friends as a hobby, and it was a blast. In came everyone to class, doubtful, hungover and grumpy. Out left everyone happy, smiling, soaking wet. And maybe even floating just a little bit.

It might have stopped there. But I found my that my desire to make people float, and my newfound excitement to show the world the beauty of rocking out and sweating on a mat was just growing. I loved the mix of music and athleticism, tranquility and vigor.

So, um, I quit my job. In a recession. Go figure. Goodbye Morgan Stanely, hello I.AM.YOU. studio.

The moral? Maybe it's follow your bliss? Or,  if you've never tried yoga, how about this: If I delved in, so can you.