YOGA FOR MAD MEN

For 13 years, I worked in a beige corporate office with no windows.

Sort of like "Mad Men," without the skinny ties and martinis.

In fact, my office was reasonably spacious, well ventilated, and efficiently furnished -- a decent starter home in an upscale neighborhood.  The putty-hued loveseat was comfy, if too short for stretching out, a la Business Class.  Themed coffee mugs and the occasional novelty item -- Harvey Pekar bobble-head doll (!) – spread across my blond-wood desk, its Scandinavian design somehow both sleek and bland.  Should I ever feel too insulated, a Bora Bora photo tacked to my corkboard would surely transport me.  Yes, I could thrive here in relative peace and solitude…

...BUT, what began so promisingly as a professional sanctuary gradually degenerated into a spiritual coffin.  A groove had formed on my loveseat’s armrest, where I lay my head every day for a restless, torqued-knee nap.  Even Harvey sat beneath a thin coating of dust that no amount of bobbling could shake loose. Bora Bora had betrayed me.

And then I discovered yoga.

Suddenly, every piece of office furniture became a prop for my expanding asana practice.  Reclining on the loveseat, my legs folded into Baddha Konasana (Bound-Angle Pose), sometimes even Half-Lotus.  Lunch breaks found me fumbling into Headstand, followed shortly by modified Shoulderstand, hips supported on a loveseat cushion.  A tall bookcase measured my progress in Utthita Hasta Padangusthasana (Standing Hand to Big Toe Pose) -- a burst of pride as I ascended my leg from shelf three to shelf four!  Kicking up to Handstand required laser-like focus and agility, lest I distract adjoining podmates from their personal phone calls and Internet porn.

It was, as asana always is, just the beginning. Eventually, my practice expanded to the point where it pushed me off the loveseat for good, revealing an escape window from that beige office...