The last couple of years, when the first day of
summer rolls around, I’ve gotten used to seeing Solstice in Times Square.
I’ve smiled indulgently as hundreds of bodies, even as they meditate in leader-leg
yoga sessions at the crossroads of the world, twist their bodies into shapes I
would not dare try lest I suddenly discover a muscle I didn’t know I had by
wrenching it.
Doing all of that on a really, really warm day is
not what I’m accustomed to doing. But heck, could this be what these
practitioners have in mind when they talk about “hot yoga”?
But that practice took on what I could only think of
as sadism this morning on my way to work. Not only were hundreds of people out
around 9 in the morning, but they were doing so when the day was still rather
humid.
Worse than that, the weather was, as it seemed to
have been most of this week, rainy. And here everyone was, squatting on the
ground again amid a steady, dispiriting drizzle.
What was this, a new form of capital punishment?
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