Healthy Living Club

Before heading down into the Paris Metro, I remove my hearing aids. The difference is immediate: Instantly, the traffic and conversations blur and recede. With hearing aids, my world is bright and sharp, bursting with amplified sound; without them, it’s muted and whispering. Most of the time, I prefer the quieter world, where my other senses bring in light, texture, and smell to give me what my ears alone cannot.I pause at the top of the concrete stairwell leading from the street to the Metro. The iron handrail feels hot where the sun rests on it. A breeze brushes my hair, and a savory aroma drifts past from a nearby caf? It’s my last afternoon in this enchanting city, and I want to remember everything. This trip, a high school graduation present to my partner’s daughter, has been both a celebration of her accomplishment and an affirmation of our family. So I linger at the top of the stairs aking it all inefore heading down to the trains.

The tunnels of the Metro bring relief from the city’s summer heat, but they assault my senses in other ways. Trains arrive and depart in roaring waves. Fluorescent lights glare against white-tiled walls, only to be swallowed by winding miles of concrete and darkness. The place smells of perspiration, axle grease, and old urine. As I approach the turnstiles, I hear the thunk-thunk of passengers moving throughnd something else: a few notes of music floating above the hum of the moving crowd. As I pass through the turnstile and walk toward my train, long, soulful tones rise and fall, and I recognize the voice of a violin.

I had always felt that love would never find me that if it did, it wouldn’t stay. But now, the beautiful sound of the violin reminds me of the import of this trip and of my partner’s nine years of devotion. I realize I’ve measured out my love too carefully, protected my heart with a wall of stones. Now, pried loose by the music, those stones are falling away. The walk toward the platform becomes a pilgrimage, each step burdened with old fear and leavened by new hope.

Finally, I reach the music’s source: a middle-aged man sitting on a folding camp stool, with an open violin case at his feet. Despite his large belly, he sits erect. His thinning gray hair is pulled into a scraggly ponytail, and his dark flannel trousers are frayed. The sweat stains darkening his shirt belie the effortlessness with which he seems to play. The music builds until it clears away the last stones of my resistance. I realize now that, in whatever brief time I am given, I am here to love.

Tears stream down my cheeks as I search the musician’s pale, round face, hoping to meet his gaze, wanting to thank him in some way. But when I find his eyes, they are half-closed and empty he wandering white oceans of the blind.

Many months later, I still find comfort in the fact that in this uncertain world, truth and beauty are at work. I know, because they spoke that day in Paris to a woman hard of hearing, through the hands of a man without sight.

The first time I brought veggies to a backyard barbecue was pure serendipity. My tiny city garden was overflowing with beautiful zucchini and summer squash, and I had zero desire to journey to the store for the usual suspects arden burgers and tofu dogs. I remembered some amazing grilled zucchini I’d had at a Mediterranean restaurant ow the fire had brought out a luscious richness, how gorgeous it looked on the plate with its grill marks, how it felt on my tongue. How hard could it be?Not hard at all, I soon found out. I sliced my zukes and squash into lengthwise half-inch-thick slices, brushed them with extra virgin olive oil, sprinkled them with kosher salt, freshly ground pepper, and snips of fresh rosemary, and loaded the whole shebang into a big reusable container. I let them slide around together on the way to the cookout. Once there, the slices required just a few minutes per side on the grill, and voilI was hailed as a culinary genius.

Now that I know how simple it is, I would add garlicky baby artichokes, charred green onions, or even baby bok choy to the platter. I love the way grilling gives my favorite vegetables a smoky, primal flavor. Their aroma becomes more robust, but they still retain their vibrant colors and natural sweetness. I’ve also learned, from the American Institute for Cancer Research, that the grill does not produce carcinogens in plant-based foods the way it does in meat. Another bonus: Quick exposure to high heat means the veggies won’t lose vitamin and mineral value.

Once I got a gas grill and could fire up at a moment’s notice, my love of grilling was confirmed. I cook enough to have leftovers?rilled peppers and earthy mushrooms are excellent in sandwiches, and zukes, corn (kernels cut from the cob), and red torpedo onions, mixed with fresh mint and cherry tomatoes, make a cool, colorful chopped salad. With my grill, it’s easy to get the USDA-recommended 2?cups of vegetables per day.

But the real pleasure of barbecuing is being outside, cooking for a hungry crowd on a warm night. Happily removed from one-touch microwave buttons and hot stoves, I feel a deeper connection to the food, the fire, and the friendsnd there’s almost nothing to clean up when I’m done.

Marinade Magic
The secret to great grilling is marinades. Most have three basic elements: an acid, like vinegar, which penetrates the surface; seasonings and spices, to lend flavor; and oil, which keeps veggies from drying out and sticking to hot surfaces. After my first olive-oil-and-herb combo, I started experimenting, using my intuition-and what was in the cupboard-to guide me. Marinades are flexible and forgiving; try mixing your oil with aged balsamic vinegar or Asian rice vinegar, fresh lemon or lime juice, minced garlic or shallots, soy sauce, fresh grated ginger, or those obscure condiments in the door of the fridge. Don’t fret about marinating for a long time; veggies absorb flavor quickly. Be sure to pour some marinade directly onto the veggies once they’re on the fire-since they have so little fat, they can dry out or burn quickly.

I’m sitting in a pub outside Prague, the only foreigner in a packed house. I can barely see my friends for the smoke, hardly hear them for the noise, as our harried waitress slams another round of velké pivo (large beers) on the table. But that doesn’t matter—they’re all speaking Czech and I’ve run out of things I know how to say. I feel my foreignness acutely.It’s the end of a long day of kayaking with my Shambhala Buddhist group. After early-morning chanting of the Heart Sutra in Czech, we had donned wetsuits and headed for the river. My rowing partner Ilona and I overturned three times in white water, laughing when we lost our paddles, bonding despite having few words in common. The kayaking was exhilarating, but now, unable to connect so easily,I feel awkward and invisible. In my gut is the hollow ache of loneliness; even the sublime Czech beer tastes like copper in my mouth.

Soon, Ilona pulls up a chair next to me and we try once more. She tells me about her family and asks about my travels. My loneliness quickly dissolves, giving way to a rush of gratitude. I find myself loving this moment—with its bad goulash and its smoke—as something precious and unique.

In my life abroad, small things make me swing from loneliness to elated connection, from aching pain to delight. In fact, everything feels more intense. I take more risks, like kayaking in rapids with strangers and stammering in bad Czech—but I also pay more attention to the details of an everyday life that is unfailingly rich and bizarre. There is no doubt that living here, and continuing my practice of yoga and Buddhism in Prague, have helped me appreciate more fully all that arises in each moment-an awareness I hope to deepen no matter where I end up next.

ILLUSIONS OF LONELINESS
For years Prague had been stuck in my heart. I had never seen a single photograph, but reports of its beauty and mystery were enough to draw me. As it turned out, Prague is even more beautiful, and more melancholy, than I had thought possible. Rich in history and alive with change, the city is artistic, surreal, and fascinating.

I came to Prague seeking transformation. I knew from having lived and traveled in Asia that each new place opens me to new ways of thinking and experiencing the world. What I didn’t anticipate was how much Prague itself would be about transformation. Since the Czechs threw off communism by peaceful revolution in 1989, Prague has grown from a city of long lines and downtrodden spirits to one of fresh ideas and real opportunities. Last year, the Czech Republic joined the European Union, setting off a flurry of activity in an attempt to meet the standards of Western neighbors. And yet there is a certain tension; while many Czechs have embraced capitalism wholeheartedly, others are nostalgic about the cheap flats and guaranteed paychecks they had during the old regime.

In the autumn of 2003, knowing not a soul, I found a flat in a Renaissance building near the center, an American student to share it with, and work freelancing for Prague’s English-language newspaper. Right away I connected with a thriving Ashtanga yoga scene, dining with fellow yogis after class and participating in weekend retreats. My days quickly filled with colorful activity, yet I felt something welling up inside.

Shiva Rea was named by her father, an artist and surfer in Hermosa Beach, California, who was seriously into Indian art and Zen Buddhism. Rea teaches all over the world—her schedule this year includes stops in Chicago; Chapel Hill, North Carolina; London; and Kerala, India. “I definitely feel like a global citizen,” she says. “I love crossing cultures and trying to reach a shared place.” Known for her energetic and soulful approach to yoga as well as her adventure retreats and ecstatic trance dance classes, Rea lives in Pacific Palisades, California, with her seven-year-old son, Jai, and her husband, Ayurvedic physician James Bailey.What was it like growing up with a name like Shiva?  I’ve heard every mispronunciation under the sun. “Queen of Sheba” is very common. As a little girl I’d look Shiva up in the dictionary and see this image of Nataraj, Lord of Destruction, and just roll my eyes. After a while I started signing my schoolwork Fifi Veronica or Cleopatra Jones.

I’ve heard you allude to your southern roots. Were you born in the South?  No, but my grandfather’s family was from Mississippi and Memphis. My great-grandfather got W.C. Handy to serenade my great-grandmother when he was courting her. I’ve definitely got the blues in my bones.

What’s your most vivid childhood memory?  It’s hard to pick out just one, but I remember being on Hermosa Beach watching my father surf and dipping Fritos in the sand because I liked the crunchy taste.

What was your favorite comfort food as a child?  French fries. I know too much about Ayurveda now to eat them.

Were you athletic as a kid?  Oh yeah. I ran the 440 relay. I played point guard and shortstop.

What would you be if you hadn’t become a yoga teacher?  There’s definitely river guide in me.

What’s the most surprising way that motherhood has influenced your yoga?  Parenting makes you so creative. There are 101 games you can play with the sugar packets at restaurants. In both teaching and parenting, you have to work with whatever situation you’re given.

For example?  The other day I was teaching and the fire alarm went off for 20 minutes. We just did lots of kriyas and rhythmic movement with sound. It was a great class. There’s this Hawaiian term, hopupu, “becoming one with the waves,” which I really relate to.

Which goes back to the river guide thing—your attraction to water. Do you surf?  I have. Unfortunately, I’m not a fan of cold water. I’m more of a kayaker than a surfer.

What hobbies do you have that might surprise us?  I love a good poker game. And I can play tag football and throw farther than most men.

What kind of music do you listen to when you’re driving?  When I’m driving to do yoga and rock climbing in the desert, I always dig up the Doors. When we’re driving to Esalen, I bring along those shaker eggs.

Yoga studios can hire yoga teachers either as employees or as independent contractors. Basically, businesses (including yoga studios) that hire employees are responsible for withholding a portion of salary to pay the employees’ federal and state taxes, including income taxes, Social Security, Medicare taxes, and unemployment tax.Independent contractors are responsible for paying their own taxes, relieving the employer of the legal obligation to withhold salary toward tax payments. For this reason, it’s generally easier for the yoga teacherarticularly one teaching in multiple studioso function as an independent contractor. In addition, as we’ll discuss below, being considered an independent contractor can have significant tax advantages for yoga teachers.

Are You an Employee or an Independent?
What determines whether someone is an “employee” or an “independent contractor”? For tax purposes, the determining factor is how the U.S. Internal Revenue Service classifies the arrangement.

The IRS uses the classic “right of control” test to determine whether someone is an employee or independent contractor. Workers are considered employees if those hiring them for have the right to direct and control the way workers accomplish their tasks. Independent contractors, on the other hand, control the details of their work. In other words, when the hiring firm controls or directs not only the result of the work, but also the means and methods used to achieve those results, then the worker is considered an employee; when the hiring firm sets the desired result but leaves the means and methods to the worker’s discretion, then the worker is considered an independent contractor.

For example, in a typical scenario, a yoga studio may hire a particular yoga teacher to teach two Ashtanga Yoga classes and one restorative class per week at specified times, but let the teacher control and direct the sequence of poses, the pacing, the exact verbalization of instructions and suggestions, the nature of adjustments, any readings during the class, and all other specified elements that make up an individualized class. This example makes it clear that the yoga teacher is likely to be considered an independent contractor.

The line between controlling and directing the result, and controlling and directing the means and methods, is not always so clear. Yoga studios, like other businesses, may have varying levels of control and direction.

How It Works
To help business owners and workers understand their legal obligations, the IRS specifies numerous factors that constitute right of control and direction over the worker’s means and methods.

For an independent contractor, these factors include analyzing whether the worker furnishes the tools and materials needed to do the work, pays his or her own business and traveling expenses, sets his or her own working hours, or works for more than one firm at a time. Defining factors for an employee include whether the worker is told in what sequence or order to work by the hiring firm, works full-time for the hiring firm, provides regular oral or written progress reports to the hiring firm, or provides services that are an integral part of the hiring firm’s day-to-day operations.

To some it was just a tiny, dilapidated old bungalow-nothing more than a shedut to David Lurey, a passionate environmentalist and a dedicated yogi, it was the perfect space for a green-friendly yoga studio. With the help of a contractor who shared his vision, Lurey completely renovated the 200-square-foot room using as many of the latest environmentally friendly innovations as he could afford. “Environmentalism is very much a part of my life,” says Lurey, who’s based in San Francisco and is a board member of the Green Yoga Association in Berkeley, California, “so being able to incorporate that into my business felt right.”Lurey looked for nontoxic paints and recycled building materials and made “green” choices about heating, insulation, flooring, lighting, and props (see the chart to the left for details). Whenever possible he opted for the greenest solution like using radiant heat or UltraTouch insulation rather than the old-fashioned (and toxic) pink fiberglass material. Even if it meant upfront costs were higher, he was confident that he’d make up for it with either lower bills or, a bigger bonus, better health. Eventually Lurey plans to install solar panels once he’s recouped some of his other expenses.

In the meantime, the results of his efforts are palpable and practical. He teaches free yoga classes for charities, and he used to host Tuesday-night kirtans for friends ntil they got too popular and had to be moved to a nearby yoga studio. “I felt like a club owner,” he says, “as if I had to stop people and ask, ‘Are you on the guest list?’ ” Now that he’s not playing bouncer anymore, Lurey can appreciate his new space and the energy that went into making it sustainable. “It was my hands that helped create this place, and it’s my heart that’s behind the green-yoga concept,” he says. “When I come in here, I feel I’m in a sacred, healthy space.”

Back in the 1970s, when Paul Owens was living in India and studying yoga, he had an epiphany. As he watched his neighbors struggle to control their new dog’s barking, he realized that their approach colding and punishment as ineffective. That’s when Owens got the idea to incorporate the lessons of his yoga practice into his approach to dog training, in part inspired by Gandhi’s observation that “the greatness of a nation can be judged by the way its animals are treated.”Now Owens, a.k.a. “the Dog Whisperer,” uses a method he calls Raise with Praise, which emphasizes positive reinforcement and gentleness, rather than intimidatio prong or choke collars allowed. “I remind people not to do anything to their dog that they wouldn’t do to their children, themselves, or their grandparents,” he says.

Besides offering private training sessions, Owens runs a nonprofit group in Los Angeles that operates Paws for Peace. Inner-city kids learn his gentle methods as they train dogs from animal shelters. The dogs are easier to place in adoptive homes, and the kids learn the power of compassion. Owens encourages the children to focus on their breathing before they begin a session. “If you’re not in control of yourself, you can’t be in control of your dog.”

Now Owens, a.k.a. “the Dog Whisperer,” uses a method he calls Raise with Praise, which emphasizes positive reinforcement and gentleness, rather than intimidatio prong or choke collars allowed. “I remind people not to do anything to their dog that they wouldn’t do to their children, themselves, or their grandparents,” he says.

Besides offering private training sessions, Owens runs a nonprofit group in Los Angeles that operates Paws for Peace. Inner-city kids learn his gentle methods as they train dogs from animal shelters. The dogs are easier to place in adoptive homes, and the kids learn the power of compassion. Owens encourages the children to focus on their breathing before they begin a session. “If you’re not in control of yourself, you can’t be in control of your dog.”

Like many other yoga-loving athletes, Brandi Chastain says her practice immediately improved her game. Just doing a simple Down Dog, she says, helped counterbalance the explosive sprinting, leaping, and kicking she does on the field.But the bigger surprise was how yoga helped her make better decisions in the heat of competition. She remembers a game the U.S. women played in Alabama against a powerful Brazilian team. It was boiling hot, Brazil was gaining momentum, and the U.S. was chasing the ball. “We were killing ourselves chasing that ball,” Chastain says. “We were just going to wear ourselves out.” She knew she had to slow down and regroup. “So I drew from yoga and went back to my yoga breathing.” Thanks in part to Chastain’s levelheaded leadership, the Americans ended up winning the game, 5-1.

Yoga also helps Chastain recover from competition. “Physical exertion can be mentally draining,” she says. “You can either crash and burn, or come down in a peaceful way.”

Although she’ll never stop being manic, Chastain’s a lot less stressed. “I still find it hard to sit still for long,” she admits, “but finding that peace has really helped.”

Stuck in traffic, sweating on the subway, sprinting for the buso matter how you get to work, a commute usually feels stressful. If you ever need a reminder of how hard it is to transfer the calm and serenity of yoga practice to everyday life, the rat race is it. We spoke to Kathleen Hall (www.drkathleenhall.com) about how you can learn to love your workday journey. The doctor of ministry is an expert on stress management and the author of Alter Your Life (Oak Haven, 2005).CHANGE YOUR ATTITUDE Make your commute a spiritual practice, says Hall. Any annoyancepilled coffee, people who cut you off, crowded busesan become an opportunity to strengthen your practice.

TAKE YOUR TIME Lay out the things you’ll need for your commute the night before and wake up a little earlier. You will feel very different if you can calmly walk to your car or to public transit instead of racing along in a panic.

TUNE IN There’s a good reason every other person you see is plugged in to an iPod: Listening to music raises levels of serotonin, which in turn boosts mood. If you drive alone in a car, make the most of your isolation and sing out loud; that will elevate your spirits, too.

DIG DEEPER Download Deepak Chopra or Jon Kabat-Zinn or Jack Kornfield or any of your favorite spiritual guides and listen to them on the way to work. Keep a prayer shawl in your car and mala beads or a rosary close at hand and lightly touch or count the beads to bring you back to yourself. Think of your commute as your chapel or temple time, Hall suggests.

TURN INWARD If you’re comfortable being alone, without the distractions of cell phones, books, radio, or conversation, try simply sitting and focusing on your breath or a mantra. Let your thoughts flow freely without following them. See if you can meditate for the length of your commute.

WHO CeCe Prince, Araya, Jamie Axelrod, Deb Phenicie,Marcia Suniga, Andrea Malmberg, Jagoe Reid
OMTOWN Lander, Wyoming
POPULATION 6,551In the middle of Wyoming at the foot of the Wind River Mountains is a small but diverse town, which, residents say, is getting groovier by the day. Lander was once dependent on ranching and mining, but it is now the international headquarters for the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS), which means there’s a steady stream of young outdoorsy types and a growing interest in complementary healing, spirituality, and New Age thinking. “It’s probably more integrated than any other western town in Wyoming. You can go into Lander Bar and see a granola climber with long dreadlocks playing pool with a rancher in a hat, and they’re both throwing cowboy jokes around,” says local yoga teacher Araya (who uses no last name).

Jagoe Reid dreamed of upping the grooviness quotient with a yoga studio, but six months after its opening she found the rent too high and the turnout too low. Not to be deterred, Reid joined together with Araya and eventually created a co-op of seven teachers whose styles range from Ashtanga to Anusara to Iyengar Yoga.

For two years, the Limber Body, Limber Mind studio survived because the teachers donated their time and satisfied themselves with the rewards of connecting to their students. Now the studio is almost profitable. “Small towns take longer to warm up to new ideas,” Reid says. “But those who’ve made a commitment to build our sangha [community] are steadfast.”

I ? the Heartland

WHO Kathy Chinouth
OMTOWN Lena, Illinois
POPULATION 2,622 Lena, Illinois, is the sort of place where you leave the car running when you slip into the post office, and where the grocery store will take an IOU. But there’s not much in the way of entertainment; the old farm town has neither a movie theater nor a rec center. As a result, the gym is a popular hangout—so Kathy Chinouth turned it into a yoga hot spot.

“Most people thought it was all about putting their leg behind their head,” she says, recalling the response when she posted a sign offering yoga (free to gym members, $2 for nonmembers). “I just told them to come to class and see.” Six or seven people did.

Over time Chinouth, who studied with a teacher in a nearby town, has drawn devotees-including local farmers—she never expected. Modestly, she chalks it up to word of mouth; no one wants to be left out, she says. But it’s clear that Chinouth, 56, knows her community well and has made people comfortable with the unfamiliar. She dims the lights to help with self-consciousness; she has first-timers come early to learn the breathing; and perhaps most importantly, she urges students to try three classes before deciding what they think.

Plus, she’s a great role model. One farmer, who admitted he almost laughed out loud during his first class, later noticed that his arm was quivering in Side Plank Pose as Chinouth, nearly 20 years his senior, demonstrated the pose with ease—while talking. He was sold.

Now her hatha class is consistently filled, and her students brim with enthusiasm. Not long ago, in fact, after she confessed she wasn’t altogether happy teaching at the gym, her students called landlords and real estate agents in a quest to find her a better space. “I was hoping there would be interest,” she says, “but never in my dreams did I think there would be this much interest.”

Gotta Have Faith

WHO Betty Wooten with Wendy Wilson
OMTOWN Georgetown, Kentucky
POPULATION 19,158 The senior minister of the First Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Georgetown, Kentucky, believes gays should have the right to marry, so he proudly displays a bumper sticker that reads, “Another person of faith voting against the marriage amendment.” That is no surprise to church member Betty Wooten, who says, “We always were a bunch of rebels.” But she was surprised—and scared—when the Reverend Wendy Wilson, an associate minister, asked her to teach yoga classes to members of the congregation. “My first reaction was, there’s no way I can do this,” Wooten says.

She was selling herself short. Although Wooten had discovered yoga just five years earlier, at the age of 56, it had had a dramatic effect on her life. After the death of her husband, she and her daughter, Vickie, went on a spa vacation to ease their grief. While there, the two stumbled into their first yoga class and have been smitten ever since. “Yoga did for us what it’s supposed to do,” she says. “I tell people that it saved my sanity and they think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not.”

Vickie pursued a teacher training certificate, but Betty never considered teaching until she was asked to. After ample prodding by her daughter, Betty decided to face her self-doubt. Equipped with her husband’s old neckties for straps and limited wall space (they have to take down a large cross to do inversions), Betty began to teach—and found her calling as a yoga teacher. Now a loyal group meets at the church every Wednesday morning to chant Om, do pranayama, and practice flow yoga. Wooten is pleased with the class size—nine students. “If it gets any bigger, we’ll have to start ripping pews out of the sanctuary,” she quips.

Onward Christian Yoginis

WHO Cindy Senarighi, Robin Norsted
OMTOWN White Bear Lake, Minnesota
POPULATION 24,453 Cindy Senarighi remembers feeling wary about going to her first yoga class because the church she’d been attending warned against any practice that stilled the mind, thereby allowing “evil” to enter it. After trying a class, though, she realized that she had experienced a new kind of stillness, and instead of feeling further from God, she felt closer. Her friend Robin Norsted felt the same.

“We decided to explore an alternative format for people who wanted to experience the benefits of yoga but who were concerned that it would clash with their Christian faith,” says Senarighi, who is currently a seminary student. So they started a company called Yogadevotion and began teaching in churches with the goal of building healthy congregations. To that end, they give a portion of their proceeds to the health ministries of each church that offers the classes.

The style is hatha flow, with generous helpings of Christian spirituality added. At the beginning of class, rather than chanting Om, students are encouraged to silently invoke a favorite phrase from a hymn or scripture, or a Christian mantra such as “Yahweh,” the Hebrew name for God. In class, Yogadevotion students might imagine grabbing the hand of God for support during an intense Warrior Pose or resting in God’s presence during Child’s Pose. A typical class ends with “Peace be with you,” rather than “Namaste.”

Now seven years old, Yogadevotion has built a healthy following and employs 10 teachers in 20 churches in the Twin Cities and surrounding suburbs. Senarighi is delighted but not surprised. “Most people don’t have a problem incorporating their faith into the practice,” she says. “They learn that what’s at your center is what you’ll relate to in the practice. For Christians, that center is Christ.”

When Things Fall Apart

WHO Melissa Derbyshire
OMTOWN Port Clyde, Maine
POPULATION About 150 Since Melissa Derbyshire moved to Port Clyde eight years ago, she’s devoted herself to creating a stalwart yoga community in nearby Tenants Harbor. She finds that yoga helps people cope with the frigid weather and keeps them from going stir-crazy as winter’s chill drags into May. It also forges bonds; her students often sail and socialize together.

But she didn’t realize how caring her community could be until March 2003, when her son, 25-year-old Marine Brian Kennedy, became one of the first Americans to lose his life in the Iraq war. Soon after, her students gathered at her home, brought food, and held a small ceremony to honor Kennedy, planting a tree in his memory.

With 31 years of practice under her belt, Derbyshire finds herself leaning more on her yoga. “The practice gives you that inner strength,” she says. “Even when you’re falling apart, you discover you still have strength deep down.” And now more than ever she is conscious of motivating her students and herself to keep finding the value of yoga. “This has shown people what yoga can do, because it really does help in a crisis,” she says. “It gives me a chance to lead by example.”