I looked down at my phone again. Another yoga class. It was in a part of the city called Haringey; a part of London that I barely knew. Decision made. I was going and I had exactly an hour to get there. Ten minutes later, I was leather clad and booted up; I was going by scooter.
A few turns took me to Lewisham, and then onto New Cross and past the Amersham Arms comedy pub. Minutes later, I rode past Burgess Park, and into the streets of Southwark, which I remembered from the non-sponsored sponsored walk.
I crossed the river at Blackfriars, which reminded me of another walk; memories of being told about ships and prisons. I then sped towards Farringdon, passing Smithfield Market, the place where I had followed that strange man. Another memory from Farringdon was my visit to the ‘attractive man’ talk where I first heard about orgasmic meditation.
I took a right: riding through Clerkenwell, I remembered seeing the well, and being told about a courthouse. I then took a left to join the A1 and rode towards Angel station and Islington.
I knew where I was going; I aimed right, and found myself riding down a road I vaguely knew: Essex Road. Minutes later I arrived at Newington Green; a part of inner London that had a friendly and relaxed feel. I sped past Clissold Park; a park I had never visited and soon caught a glimpse of a familiar sight: the London Underground sign; a sign for Manor House station. This was another internal Meetup landmark: Finsbury Park.
I pressed on, passing a familiar pub I had once been to for a comedy night, and then into the unknown; new territory. A railway bridge reached out across the road, advertising my entry onto new territory with large bold letters: Harringay Green Lanes.
I climbed what is topographically known as the Haringey Ladder and looked around: there were restaurants, dentists, mobile phone shops, estate agents, banks and chicken shops; an entire town within a city. When the shops gave way to housing, I knew I was close to my destination. Suddenly, I saw where I needed to go. I pulled over, turned off the engine, and removed my helmet. I had arrived at the Turkish Cypriot Community Association.
‘Is this… the place for Yoga?’
‘Just go out, go right, there’s a door. It’s at the back’ replied the receptionist.
I stepped into a large cavernous room that was filled with fifteen people. Everyone seemed to be putting a mat on the floor. Although I had made it on time, I still needed to get changed. Thankfully I had the foresight to pack a pair of jogging bottoms just in case I needed them.
‘Are you Ally?’ I asked. I had found the Meetup organiser. ‘I’m, erm, I’ve come down for the Meetup. I’m just going to get changed. I don’t have a mat’.
By the time I had returned, everyone was lying on the floor. Ally had kindly set out a mat for me.
‘Concentrate on your breathing… Count up to six, breathing in…. and out’. I was panting and sweating because I had just rushed to get out of my motorcycle safety gear. ‘Breathe through your nose…’ I heard people breathing around me. I felt uncomfortable. Below me, I could hear the sound of an underground train. I chastised myself; I told myself to concentrate, to breathe.
It was time for movements. We got on our hands and knees and into the ‘downward dog’ posture. We shuffled, moved and stretched. I tried to follow Ally as best as I could, whilst also looking around at the other participants, who obviously had some idea about what was coming next. We were encouraged to contort our arms and bend our backs. All the time, Ally was giving a simple and clear commentary about what was needed. We were then back to downward-dogging and shuffling forward. Blood rushed to my head. I realised I was sweating profusely. It was my hangover; my body didn’t want to move. I just wanted to sit down at the back of the class and drink a bottle of water, but I couldn’t. That would be cheating.
It was time for balance postures. We all stood on one leg and placed our foot just below our knee. At the same time we reached forward with one of our arms and stretched. I wobbled and dived, unable to keep my balance. We changed legs. I looked around: everyone seemed to be balancing without lurching around. I was frustrated: what with all my scooter riding, I thought I had good balance. I suddenly realised that Ally was profoundly stretchy, along with a sixty year old woman who occupied the space in front of me. In comparison, I felt as stiff as a board.
After a short break we were back to the main postures and then tried to collectively put our elbows under our knees. The session ended where we started; with our breathing exercises. It had taken just over an hour.
This was the type of yoga I had always imagined: stretching, postures, and movement. Kundalini yoga in Ealing and laughter yoga in Teddington were very different. This was proper exercise.
I went to get changed back into my motorcycle gear and went to have chat with Ally, who spoke with a soft Australian accent.
Ally had set her group up over six months ago, and had attracted nearly two hundred members. I asked her about her interest in yoga, and she explained that it was a passion; that she recently returned from doing some training in India (she had been a couple of times), and would like to escape from the nine to five office existence by turning her passion into a business.
It was time to go. I ambled back to the scooter and checked my phone. I had a text message from Mary, who had just got out of bed.
‘Where are you?’ she asked.
‘I’m in Haringey, doing yoga. I’ve finished’.
‘That’s not too far from me.’
‘Fancy some lunch?’
I looked at the map on my phone. She was right: it wasn’t far, but the route was confusing. I decided to stick to the main roads, and ignore the directions the phone was giving me.
As I scootered past the Arsenal football stadium towards Archway, I had another Meetup memory: a visit to the Geekpub, where I had tried to play Hearthstone.
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