“], “filter”: { “nextExceptions”: “img, blockquote, div”, “nextContainsExceptions”: “img, blockquote, a.btn, a.o-button”} }”>
Heading out the door? Read this article on the new Outside+ app available now on iOS devices for members!
>”,”name”:”in-content-cta”,”type”:”link”}}”>Download the app.
My yoga mat never leaves my house. He used to, believe me—that guy was a real mat about town.
But these days, he gets his reps in at home. Now, I actually never bring my own mat to class. Why? The rational is impossibly simple: I don’t want the extra.
Showing up to class is hard enough for me. Feeling like it’s a sport (or chore) with equipment in tow takes some of the joy out of a modest practice. I just want to show up as myself and trust the process. Plus, they don’t charge extra for that, you know?
Sure, I’ve got a special thing for my home yoga mat, but when I reach for a black borrowed number, I know exactly what I’m going to get. Eucalyptus cleaner blends with old sock and toe funk to create a neutral-ish aromatic experience. The porous rectangle has a few well-worn patches from decades of Downward Dog, providing some decent hand and footholds for the sweaty, slippery, novice yogi.
These are things I’ve grown to expect from my practice, and a boat I’m no longer prepared to rock. After all, if I’m going to try and hold that leg bind today, I want to know I’ve got a little extra purchase. I’m here for that consistency, fam.
There’s also a communal bond between mat borrowers. No one is better in this studio. Yeah, we might practice a little differently, but we’re all sweating onto the same surface. That’s the kind of camaraderie I need in my yoga class, and a reminder that potential fungal intervention will ultimately just bring us closer together (or that we can at least share treatment plans).
Not bringing a mat to class is more than just a statement though, it is my ultimate non-attachment practice. This is me letting go. There is truly no better way to embody that mantra than leaving my equipment at home.
Settling into my final Savasana, I think deeply about the odors that are now settling into my T-shirt. They are me, and I am them—a circle unbroken. When the teacher finishes her final words the mat will return to his place on the wall, living in harmony with the others until we meet again, or I’m forced to use the one now under the guy next to me. Is that…back hair?
