Brutal Economics; Yoga trainings and the true cost.

As you can see I very rarely wrote anything long enough on here to warrant a blog post, but I recently opened a yoga can of worms when I posted a questions to my followers on Instagram of what people thought the minimum requirement should be for someone to take a 200hr yoga teacher training.

I posted this all on my stories but I felt it warranted a permanent spot on my website so here you go.

I may update, add, or even do a part two , but for now here it is;

Thank you for your responses.

This took me longer than expected. Once I started I realised I had quite alot to say on the subject. I'll be posting this whole thing on my website tomorrow and will link it in my bio.

As you saw, the majority said 3yrs but with answers ranging from 1-5 yrs. All be it with good suggestions of signed attendance from senior teachers of classes, and continued education.... More on this later...

A few of you proposed that it was more down to the dedication of the practioneer rather than the time. Are they committed to their practice? Do they have body awareness etc etc...

Essentially, this came about because I was told a girl came and took her first ever yoga class with me the other week.. Awesome! I was also told she'd just done her 200hr. Wait.. What? So how could my class be her first? Turns out she did a course having never set foot in a yoga class previously. But that's crazy I hear you say.... As she now technically has a teaching qualification. Yes, and yet over my 12 years of teaching I've heard stories like this often and yet it still surprises me.

Hence, why I was genuinely curious to see what other people thought. Especially non teachers.

I also want to make it clear that I am not personally attacking anyone's practice, life or teaching.

I do however think it's a highly relevant topic to explore particularly as yoga becomes more widespread so more courses = more teachers.

I also don't have a stringent solution but I feel conversation encourages change and understanding and all the good stuff.

I also think there's only so much I'm going to be able to write here and that there are of course, many layers and differences between teachers, courses, and studios / schools etc

I do think courses that allow you to teach others or qualify you in some way to pass knowledge down should have a minimum practice requirement. Does someone have to be able to handstand? No. As we all know, this isn't about asana proficiency, and even less so about advanced asana proficiency. It's is about people having a level of understanding of their own bodies. It's going through trials and tribulations. Going through periods of their changing bodies, feelings of demotivation, even injury.

Why is this all important? Because when you teach you'll have a wide range of bodies in class. Some less able. Some more. Do you need to have all the answers to every question? Absolutely not, as someone pointed out we all have to start somewhere and I totally agree. We are, after all, all beginners at the start. But the longer you've spent understanding yourself and putting the hours in so to speak (and not just with asana), the more awareness, I believe, you have, when you come across those with difficulty, blocks and emotional responses.

This leads me to what I feel is perhaps the more important discussion to have and what I think has been lost to some degree in this yoga boom, and that is the mentoring aspect. Ironically yoga is about union and yet how confidently can we stand and say we have a community around us? We live very solo lives anyway. Arguably even more as an independent teacher. Years ago you stayed with a guru. Assisted them and were guided by them. Dispeller of darkness etc... So there was a shadowing aspect, that brought illumination, a soundboard and constant encouragement and by extension a naturally continued education.


What I struggle with is that nowadays courses set prerequisites and then ignore them for what seems to be a thirst for cash. They then offer no mentorship after. So we are in a situation that if you have enough money you can essentially pay for a cert. There's no accountability and you can now legally be hired to teach different bodies having never stepped on a mat pre training and not be required to there after.
(I'm also aware this happens in other disciplines not just yoga)

Do I think bodies like Yoga Alliance are the answer? No. I myself have never been part of Yoga Alliance and seeing as it's many of their courses that I hear these stories from I'm even less inclined. What exactly are you paying for? Are there guidelines and conditions to be accredited or do you simply pay to be a member?

My teacher in Mysore has his certificates only valid for 3 years to ensure people come back for continued education (not that they have to re do the course). Money making scheme or a good way to keep people accountable and up to date with his teachings etc? For him it's a way to make sure people continue to be students before they are teachers. He also encourages them to come back and sit in on his trainings for free and assist him.

Another question to perhaps explore is what's the rush? What is it that makes you want to teach so soon after having discovered the practice yourself? Is some joy of exploring yourself and the teaching not then to some degree shadowed by the need to teach and by extension earn money?

As I said there is too much for me to unpack here alone. In my opinion as a practioneer since 2001 and a teacher since 2008 I still feel like I know so little. Do I have passion? Of course. Do I love my job? Yes. Am I less experienced than my teachers? Yes. That's just a fact. No matter how much heart someone has they are only every where they are in terms of time on the path.

Part of all this is why I have said no countless times when asked to teach a 200hr. Despite the financial appeal I simply can not go against my beliefs. To take on such a responsibility. To train other to pass this down in my mind takes years and years not merely of self practice but of absorbing knowledge from those further along the path.

X

I am Not a Runner....

I am not a runner. I don’t run outside. I don’t run at the gym. I don’t own running leggings, or a pair of decent running shoes. The only time I sprint is in London to catch a bus. So, despite being aware of it’s many benefits, I don’t run. 

However, having Tala as one of my closest friends, I know about running, casually or extremely, socially or competitively. 

I also know about running because I’m a yoga teacher. 

Why would there be any connection between the two? Well, I see a lot of runners coming to class as they find the two disciplines marry well together.

Here are my Top 5 Reasons Why:

1. The Breath: Sounds pretty obvious but breath is an integral part of both a Yogi’s and a Runner’s experience. The focus placed on breath in a yoga class reminds the practitioner about the significance of breath being intrinsically linked to our overall wellbeing. Not only does it allow us to keep a level head and a focused mind, but also the steadiness and increased depth of breath practiced in Yoga helps with the endurance of the runner. Whether it be an 84k epic run or a 2k sprint, ragged breath is not an option. 

1. The Hamstrings: The tight spot of any long term runner. Yoga classes, no matter the discipline, include forward folding. The asanas (postures) therefore not only increase flexibility in the back of the legs, but also work to open the hips and spine which the runner then finds contributes to better posture and alignment during running. 

1. The Meditation: Any non-contact sport where you move ‘alone’, that is without contact with others, like running, becomes a form of meditation. Many people refer to running, swimming, cycling and even surfing as an opportunity to get ‘into a zone’. Having a regular yoga practice in my belief helps improve the quality of your concentration. Using ancient techniques the mind is made stronger, and more accepting of difficulty. This, coupled with the breath, creates perseverance. Trying running for a London bus and you’ll know what I mean!

1. The Contrast: As much as we can fall a bit in love with our preferred discipline, it’s good to move in different ways. We can be incredibly proficient at one movement cycle but put a cross fitter on a surfboard or a weightlifter in a dance class and they’ll be sweating faster than Tala runs 1k! Consequently, variety of movement is integral to our health. We shouldn’t strive for only flexibility, nor just strength, nor just cardio. Dedicating yourself to a practice is brilliant, and important, but being open to trying different movements, especially ones which are either less or more intense to what you do regularly, keep both the body, and the mind happy! 

1. The Overall: We are all looking, hopefully, to be the best versions of ourselves; physically, mentally and spiritually. Taking yourself out of your usual ‘running track’ comfort zone allows you to expand your mind as well as your body. You also get to meet new people, and who doesn't want to be able to do the splits as a party trick?! 

So there you have it. My top 5 reasons why more runners should do yoga… and perhaps why more yogis should run! (I may have just convinced myself to try running… GULP!) 

*Make sure you tell and yoga teacher if you have any injuries so that they can work with you safely and specifically. 

Written for my good friend Tala's website... See Below! 

The Traveling Yogi...

When I was asked to write a blog piece on my experience of Yoga and Travel it felt almost insurmountable. How could, arguably two of the most significant, soul changing, and poignant things in my life, two things that are so intertwined for me, be written about in one blog post? A novel, maybe. A blog, impossible! How would I get it all in?!

Thankfully, to save you countless stories and tales of travel and yoga, yoga while traveling, and traveling while doing yoga… you get my drift, I decided to focus on one very important trip for me; my first trip to Mysore and the one where I found my teacher.

It was April 2009 and I’d already lived on and off for a just over a year in the Sivananda Ashram, in Kerala. I’d completed my teacher training, ended a long term relationship, traveled around India in a group and alone, shadowed senior teachers, assisted on a kids camp, assisted 2 further trainings, started a new relationship and taught in South Goa. I’d also lost both my Grandfather and my Grandmother, whom I was incredibly close to. Needless to say, I’d learnt a lot, suffered a lot, laughed a lot, and cried a lot. 

Like most good stories, going to Mysore, finding my teacher, and making the switch to practice Ashtanga Yoga, was one of complete chance. I’d met a guy from Delhi in the ashram who gave me a card for a shala in Mysore saying ‘If you ever get a chance to go, this teacher is amazing’. About two months later a British couple passed through the ashram, and one night told me they were about to continue their journey onwards to Mysore to study with their teacher there. They gave me his card. It was the same one as the one I’d already been given.

A great believer in the old adage, ‘everything happens for a reason’, and being a naturally curious person, who at that time was fortunate enough to have no set plans on where to live or what to do, I left the ashram, traveled around a bit, all the while using these business cards as book marks, and eventually booked a flight to Bangalore and a train to Mysore. 

Arriving at the station, as anyone who's ever taken a train in India can tell you, can be a daunting experience. Luckily though, at that point I was pretty used to negotiating my way around and hopped in a rickshaw handing the driver a tattered card.

“Ahhhh this yoga shala, yes yes, Laxmipuram, Sthalam8, Ajay Kumar, I know.” 

Followed by, “First time Mysore? You Ashtanga? Oh, Hatha? Very good chanting, but Ashtanga very good body, ha ha ha ha.”

Reaching the steps of Ajay’s shala 10 mins later, I was struck by the simplicity of the place. Later I would learn that an old Indian Brahmin family lived downstairs, and Ajay rented the first floor off them.

Up there I found, a small practice room (worlds away from the massive Sivananda Shiva hall at Neyyar Dam), a semi outdoor chill area, a small kitchen/ cafe, and a puja area. The receptionist, called Ajay to inform him a student (me) had come. I waited. About 30 mins later, Ajay came in and sat down at the desk. 

“How did you hear about me?”, it wasn’t quite threatening, but it wasn’t soft either, definitely a change to the Swamis at Sivananda who spoke in muted tones. 

“Nilesh, and Ellie and her boyfriend both gave me your cards.”

A look of warmth crossed his face, “Ah good! And where are you coming from? Sivananda?” 

“Yes”, I said almost inaudibly, I had no idea if this would be a good or a bad thing! I’ve come to learn over the years that there can be a lot of prejudice when it come to different Yoga schools and philosophies. Gratefully, I knew very little of that back then, and even so it pleased Ajay to hear I’d been in an Ashram. 

“Great, so you are used to waking up early then!?” 

“Well actually I was hoping…” 

“ See you tomorrow at 6am.”

And so, that day I was taken around by one of Ajay’s friends, Lekan, to find an apartment. I got a two bedroom place living above a family, with Lekan warning me that it only had an Indian toilet. I informed him that I’d been living in an ashram having a cold bucket shower for months, and having my own toilet at this point was a luxury! Turns out, Ellie and her Boyfriend had rented the exact same apartment and had just left two days before. There’s that synchronicity again.

My first practice was probably the hardest class I’d ever attended. It was Mysore style. I didn’t know the sequence. It seemed everyone around me knew what they were doing. I’d never breathed Ujayi. I couldn’t lower down in Chaturanaga Dandasana. I kept looking at the paper. I sweated bucket loads. I got told shortly I should’ve brought a towel. I had to repeat. All in all, I’m not sure what made me go back the next day. Except there was something indescribable in that room. Only those who practice Mysore style can relate to that. There’s the most powerful, overwhelming, all encompassing energy, and yet it’s completely silent. Apart from the odd command from Ajay to a student or his assistant, there is no noise. None. Just breathing. It was magic. 

A few days later was the weekly backbending class. I felt excitement and relief that finally I was going to be able to do something. Having always been flexible, I was sure this class would be a breeze!

At the end of class Ajay called me over. 

“ You think you’re pretty flexible in your back right?”

“ Yes?”, I responded, unconvinced if that was the answer he was looking for.

He smiled, “Your spine is good, but your legs are very weak. We’ll work on that while you are here, otherwise if you keep using your back like that, by 35 you’ll be walking with a stick.”

Sobering words from a teacher who’d only seen me practice for about 3-4 days, and yet, I knew I’d found my teacher. He told me in that one statement more about my practice and myself than I’d ever got from anyone else. Often I received praise about my flexibility or my dancers style grace in movement. Never criticism. Nothing that showed up my Ego. The more I thought about it the more I realised this person was here to show me who I am and I’d be a fool to let my pride get in the way of that. 

It was, and still remains today his discipline, his unwavering dedication to his teaching, his students, his shala, his insightful observation and knowledge of the human body, and even more so the mind, and what he seeks to cultivate in those who come to study with him, repeating almost daily; ‘I am not here to tell you what you are good at. I am here to tell you what you are bad at and then work with you to change it’ , that has drawn me back over the last 8 years. I can count the number of times he’s praised me with a ‘good laura’ on one hand.

Those 6 weeks in Mysore were spent finding muscles in my body I didn’t even know existed. I attended Ajay’s wife’s sister’s wedding. I went to Ajay’s birthday party. I made fruit salads with the one knife, plate and bowl I’d bought. I watched every episode of Heros having rented a TV and DVD player. I went into Gokulum (where the main Jois school is) once, to see a friend from Sivananda, who was staying at Anokhi (now one of my most favourite breakfast places). I went up Chamundhi Hill, and saw the palace lights. I also learnt of the death of Pattabhi Jois, who he was to the community, and attended his funeral procession.

But mainly what I found, mainly after all that I’d been through, I found not only the man who I still to this day call my teacher. I also found my strength. It is this that has kept me going at times of great despair and feelings of loss. It is this that now gets me on my mat alone each morning. It is this who shapes who I am on and off my Yoga mat. 

Much is said about ‘walking the yoga path’, that our practice in itself is a journey. A movement away from one thing and towards something else. Much like travel, we delve deep into tangible experience, coming out the other side, each time a little bit different than we were before. The Yoga helps us recognise the change, and like travel, it strives to keep our minds, and our hearts open to possibility. After each hurdle that we face in our practice, a lesson is learnt, and again we continue walking. So too with travel, after each trip, our heart and body crave another experience, another transformation. I count myself lucky enough to have found travel, and my practice, both of which steer me through the world and allow me to see it a new.

a pain-FULL practice

Many of us have come to start our Yoga journey either because of an injury or general stiffness. Picking up a mat and stepping onto it for the first time, rarely occurs because we feel strong, balanced and at our ‘physical best’. At the same, time those of us already on the Yoga path have probably encountered some kind of injury, or physical limitation that has forced us to change the way we approach our practice. Or, as teachers, who use our bodies all day, practicing, demonstrating, and adjusting.

Safe to say then, that at some point during your chosen undertaking of a Yoga asana practice, you will feel bad. You will feel pain, uncomfortable, stiff, tired, emotional, confused and even angry. 

So why do we continue. What is it that draws us back to ours mats, day in, day out? 

I recently returned from one of my regular trips to Mysore to practice with my teacher Ajay Kumar.  To say that the trip was a difficult one would be an understatement. Still suffering sporadically from an old injury that I got from an adjustment (not by Ajay), and the referral (when other parts of the body start to compensate), I felt like I was regressing in my practice. Nothing was ‘flowing’, and my mind was full of negativity. Added to this Ajay was attempting to refine my poses. I was definitely not in my yoga groove! I actually felt like quitting. My mind went to all the lie-ins I could have, the late nights where I wouldn’t clock watch. Yet when my alarm went off the next day at 4am, I got up and went to practice. The reason for me was two-fold. 

Firstly, it is through injury and feeling like I am not succeeding in my practice that I have gotten to know myself better than at any other time. I have been forced to internalise, observe, and to listen to what my body is telling me.

The second, and herein lies the purpose, the bud, and the beauty of it all; is that it has cultivated my faith in the power of Yoga to heal and to change. 

During times of pain, on or off the mat we believe it will forever be so. That we will always feel exactly like this. That it will never, ever get better, and yet with time it does. We re-build our strength. Our flexibility comes back. The pose that we stopped being able to do, returns to us like a gift. Received with the greatest appreciation. We cherish the days when we feel ‘good’ because we have a deepened knowledge of feeling ‘bad’. We start to differentiate between muscular and joint pain. We inherently know when to forge ahead and when to back off and rest. We learn to take care of ourselves in our lives. To seek treatment; massage, acupuncture. We open up and show our struggles to others. We become human. 

Through this period of vulnerability and the realisation that we can do nothing but surrender, we actually start to find inner strength.  Maybe we even explore other Yogic disciplines such as pranayama, mantra, and meditation, thereby expanding our experiences.

I believe physical pain is a manifestation of something unaddressed in the emotional and it is our job to seek and learn from it. As Jim Morrison once said; “You feel your strength in your experience of pain,” and so we step onto our mat with the faith that no matter what, we are full of all we need.