For Day 3 of @omgcpwomen week
Midafternoon sunlight peeks through one of the blinds in Carrie Robinson’s yoga studio. It’s a modestly sized two room space, the back room predominantly used for aerial yoga and the occasional private session. The dim lights create the illusion of cool temperature as a hundred and five degrees of heat thrums through the vents.
The essential oil diffuser in the back of the room is filtering scents of geranium, citrus, and eucalyptus. Best of all, MGMT plays softly throughout the room. Carrie smiles to herself. Nothing could be more her element than leading a hot fusion class.
“Inhale into cobra, keep your pelvis glued to the floor and your chest wide and open to the ceiling,” Carrie says she demonstrates at the front of the room. “Hold it there for ten…and then getting on the balls of your feet, exhale and push your hips back into downward facing dog.”
The door creaks open, groaning as someone shuffles in loudly. Carrie turns her head to see none other than her husband awkwardly trying to lay out his Falconers’ blue yoga mat in the back corner of the room where there clearly isn’t space.
“There’s plenty of room up here,” she chirps. “Remember to inhale, on the exhale push your hips further toward sky, allow your head and neck a moment of rest.”
In the corner of her eye, she notices a few of her new students cringe while some of her regulars chuckle. She notices person who’s clearly a hockey fan gape as Randy begrudgingly rolls out his mat perpendicular to hers.
“Alright, on inhale pick your left leg behind you as high as you can, and on exhale sweep it forward so your ankle is parallel to wrist,” Carrie says. “It’s ok if you need to pick up your foot to readjust.”
Randy catches up to the rest of the group easily enough. Carrie snorts. It’s almost like he’s married to a yoga instructor.