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Outside Magazine September 2004
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Peter ”Iron Yogi” Seamans: Yoga Without Pity
Om Wrecker (Cont.)

AFTER COMING TO CLASS off and on twice a week for three months, Turbo Vinyasa has issued me mostly physical dividends. The folds in my belly have turned into hints of abdominal muscles, and for the first time in years I've finished a season of telemark skiing without tweaking a knee. So I'm keeping the faith and holding out for the magic, if only because the classes are never boring, and neither are the students. They're down-to-earth, fanatical athletes, a combo you don't find every day. And they crave Turbo Vinyasa like mad carbs.

"It's the only yoga I've ever stuck with," says 32-year-old Sara Nelson, a competitive triathlete. "When I miss a week, I definitely feel it in my back. I'm hunched over like a turtle."

"I don't come inside for much, but I joined Flatiron in the spring just for this yoga class," says 42-year-old Daniel Krahe, a Class IV kayaker and ultra– distance runner. "Balancewise, it's phenomenal. I walk out of here better than I walked in—literally."

A couple weeks later, I hit the pincha mayurasana forearm stand. Just as it did for the former cheerleader striking the bird-of-paradise pose, it happens totally unexpectedly. One moment I'm an exhausted mortal thinking about frothy mugs of ice-cold beer; the next I'm an exhausted mortal who's fully upside down without harness, block, or tackle and using muscles that I didn't even know I had. As the Iron Yogi begins leading the closing 15-minute visualization, I lie back on my mat, feeling wholly spent and sure that something divine is beckoning in the distance.

"Maintaining focus on your third eye, picture or imagine the number 10," Seamans intones.

I hear kapwack-kapwack from the racquetball court next door, but I pull my concentration back to the numerals, which I envision as a Grecian column and a bike tire.

"Take a slow, deep inhale," he instructs. "As you exhale, allow your body to soften ... one ... level ... down ... "

Each of my limbs melts into the floor, and dissolves even further as he counts down to 9, then 8, then 7. I'm leaving the outer world. Somewhere around 6, I'm gone. Everything goes black.

I've fallen asleep, exhibiting all the heightened spirituality of a two-by-four.
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