To say I am a feminist yoga instructor feels redundant. However, it is important to make this distinction more clear given the vast array of approaches to feminism and the similarly vast array of approaches to practicing yoga. Both are contested, commercialized, conflicted.

Being a feminist yoga teacher means being more than a feminist and more than a yogi. There are many overlapping aspects of yoga philosophy and feminist theory and pedagogy, but a yoga teacher is not necessarily a feminist unless they embrace the complexity of social and cultural systems and help the individual navigate this reality using yoga’s tools.

For instance there are strains of yoga that believe in the pure, unadulterated power of positive thinking. If you visualize it, meditate on it, and get out of your own way, you can have it. They even go so far as to say that you can acquire riches through visualization and meditation.

Further, if you get enough people together to meditate, they can change the world simply through the vibrations of meditation. However, in a social and cultural system that is based upon oppression, visualization and meditation is not enough. Power and privilege shape our lives in ways that we, as individuals, cannot control. We have to work together to change these systems and no amount of meditation or vibration can make these changes.

Both of these ideas are simplistic and some yogis would accuse me of being too cynical to appreciate the nuances of spiritual power. However, I am a realist and an optimist. I know there is power in yoga. I have felt this power—or some of this power, at least. Yoga and meditation can be transformative, but if we wait around for some kind of magic to happen (especially on a global scale), we are simply being naïve.

Thus, the power of critical thinking that comes with feminism is an important aspect of feminist yoga. However, it’s not like this is an easy aspect to work in among the asanas (physical poses/practice) of a yoga class. I often sneak this critique into the music and into some of the things I say during class.
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As I think more about what a feminist yoga teacher is and what that teacher does that is similar and different from other approaches to yoga (one of my many sabbatical projects!), a few initial thoughts are floating around…. Some of these are overlapping and there is a lot more to unpack here…

A feminist yoga teacher empowers students, activating awareness and providing space for discovery. This might be awareness, empowerment, and discovery on an individual level, but it might also extend beyond the individual, into culture or community.

A feminist yoga instructor is aware of gender dynamics and is concerned with power dynamics. They understand the connections and contradictions of the individual and the structural. For instance, while yoga in the West is often dominated by women participants and instructors, it still suffers from the impacts of patriarchy. I have heard and read many accounts of sexual assault that have happened during yoga classes; for instance, a male instructor who would kiss women during savasana (final relaxation). The sacred space of the yoga studio is not always safe for women.

A feminist yoga instructor is informed by intersectional feminist theory as well as interdisciplinary yoga traditions. Simple, one-dimensional approaches to feminism, or to yoga, are incomplete and act to obscure the ideas and the practice.

A feminist yoga instructor has an awareness of the limitations and possibilities of the body and mind that is grounded in an understanding of anatomy and kinesiology as well as their own embodied experience. A feminist yoga instructor teaches from their body while recognizing the limitations and possibilities of the bodies in the room. Participants are encouraged to strive for challenge and ease depending upon a variety of factors.

A feminist yoga instructor makes interventions toward transformation—of individuals as well as institutions.

A feminist yoga instructor recognizes the diverse spiritual aspects that are experienced through yoga and honors this diversity.

A feminist yoga instructor understands trauma—its impacts on the mind/body and the tools that can help to heal.

A feminist yoga instructor values process and suspends judgement. They continue to learn and grow in their practice as well as their teaching.

A feminist yoga instructor understands consciousness as both critical/oppositional as well as transcendental.

A feminist yoga instructor challenges gender stereotypes and recognizes the natural balance of femininity and masculinity as well as the socially constructed foundations of these natural phenomena. For instance, when taking a Kundalini yoga class we were told to do a certain hand mudra (position) if we were female and a different one if we were male. I switched my hand mudra several times throughout the exercise and wondered if there was anyone in the room experiencing discomfort at the idea of choosing a hand mudra based upon sex/gender. I try to emphasize the feminine and masculine characteristic that we all have and the importance of balance.

A feminist yoga instructor encourages and models self-care, sets aside ego, and taps into community.
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Feminist Yoga
Happens in community
Utilizes an awareness of structure and personal navigation
Emphasizes process
Calls for patience
Develops empathy
Increases mental flexibility
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These ideas represent the early stages of further research, thinking, teaching, practicing. It might just be that feminist yoga is just yoga taught consciously and responsibly. Or, perhaps feminism has something to offer the development of yoga in the West and we are just starting to tease out the possibilities.

I don’t have children. I don’t plan to have children. And I don’t spend a lot of time with children. So, I was not looking forward to choosing one of the two required classes to complete my 200 hour yoga certification: Prenatal or kids. I chose based upon availability. Because most of my fitness teaching happens at the YMCA, and because pregnancy pretty much grosses me out, I was glad that it worked out to complete my YogaFit for Kids training in Palm Springs this January.

In the past, I have been asked to teach yoga for kids and I have filled in for instructors for kids’ dance classes. Working at the YMCA, it was only inevitable that I would teach yoga to kids in some way, shape, or form. I did a yoga session for the Martial Arts Kids Camp that did not go very well. A few kids were into it; the rest pretty much ignored me. This was not totally unlike teaching adults, but adults tend to want to do exactly what the instructor is doing.

I was also asked several times to teach yoga to kids, but declined (or deferred) because of my busy schedule. I also declined because I had no idea how to make yoga friendly to kids. I had a few ideas about how to use animal poses to engage kids, but from there my imagination failed me.

The biggest challenge for me in the Kids training is that because I don’t spend a lot of time with kids, I have forgotten the markers of childhood—the aspects of learning and the permission to play. After taking Yoga Fit for Kids, I finally have a clue. I’m not saying that I plan to run out and teach yoga for kids. But I better see the value in teaching yoga to kids. Besides the benefits of relaying tools for managing stress and regulating emotions, I understand the role that stories play and the ways that games can be used to engage kids in yoga.

I also saw many parallels in my mind/body fitness dance as well as the other training I took in Palm Springs—Yoga For Warriors: PTSD. In mind/body fitness dance, we encourage participants to play and (re)discover their bodies while connecting to their minds. In Warriors and kids yoga we let participants find their way into a pose. We downplay the alignment cues and let them find ease and comfort in each pose.

I try to incorporate elements of play and ease into all my yoga classes. I try to give my participants structure and freedom.  I try to teach them new things—new ideas, new poses, new sequences. At my YogaFit Kids training, I was reminded how important these elements are in yoga, and life, more generally. Play and ease are aspects of yoga that we should all embrace—even if we aren’t tapping into our inner child.

For many years, Betty attended almost all of my cardio fitness classes at the Bangor YMCA. When I met her, she was in her early 70s and she would hold her own with the younger women in the room. She would wear her uniform: old-school leotard and tights in a variety of bright colors, often with a sparkly belt or headband or a ring with a flashing light. She liked to dress up.

The YMCA was Betty’s social time and she had many friends in class. We often told Betty how inspirational she was to us. We would sing for her birthdays, and class was never really the same without Betty there. And Betty made her presence known—through her loud voice as well as her generosity. If Betty didn’t like something, she told you. But, if Betty liked something, she would also tell you.

And Betty liked—loved—sweets. After (almost) every class, Betty would have a piece of chocolate for me and for the other instructors and some of the participants, depending upon how much chocolate she came with. Most often she gave us the Dove chocolates with inspirational sayings. Sometimes the treat was mini-sized candy bars like Baby Ruth or Snickers. Sometimes she had caramel and chocolate. Sometimes she would bring an orange or a pear or a piece of homemade banana bread. She would apologize if she came to class empty-handed, a very rare occurrence.

For years, Betty would tell me that she was not feeling well and that she was going to try to make it through class. But, if she left early, she didn’t want me to worry. Until recently, Betty never left class early. She stuck it out for the entire class and often did some extra planks. When she left class, she would tell me that she hoped to see me next time. Most often, she did.

If Betty didn’t like something, she would not do it. And she would be sure to tell you that she didn’t like it. For instance, Betty liked the dance classes best. She hated kickboxing. Sometimes I would throw in some punches during my mixed-cardio classes. She would do the punches and then tell me how much she hated that part of class. If she was really unhappy, she would let me know by not giving me a piece of chocolate after class.

In fact, Betty complained about a lot of things. Almost every day she would have a new complaint to share with me. Often it was complaints about her chronic illness; for decades she battled COPD and also suffered from vertigo and heart problems as well as the occasional ankle injury (which rarely kept her away for long). But she would also complain about the YMCA policies, like being required to have her debit card on file for the automatic payment plan. Regardless of the complaint, I would listen and nod my head until she was finished. Sometimes (rarely) I could help resolve the issue. When she complained that she ate too much ice cream or cake in the middle of the night, I would praise her for such actions and encourage her to eat whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it.

She also liked to complain about the other fitness instructors. She told me on many occasions that the other instructors are great girls, but that she and I were just on the same rhythm. The way I taught seemed to work for her. Even when I was delivering the same choreography, Betty liked the way I delivered it. But, I also catered to Betty’s requests. For instance, the rope lights bothered her and she preferred the room bright. We compromised and I would turn off the rope lights, but I would not turn on all the overhead lights. When I would have to miss a class, I would be sure to let Betty know, if only to spare the sub from her wrath.

But Betty also showed me her appreciation outside of my fitness classes. For years she would send me cards for St. Patrick’s Day and Halloween. When the holiday fell during her time in Arizona for part of the winter, she would often write me long notes about her Jazzercize classes and the dry weather. At Halloween time she would often send me a card and a couple of crisp dollar bills so that I could get myself a treat. She always remembered my birthday and once she even brought me one of her favorite frozen cakes—a coconut cake that was so delicious that I ate almost the entire thing and had to throw the rest in the trash to stop myself (which was only marginally helpful).
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This year, Betty passed away on my birthday, January 27. I was expecting the bad news. When I left town in December, I had not seen her at class for the last couple of months. This was not too unusual; despite her regular attendance, she would often miss a stretch of time for health or travel reasons. But, this absence felt different. For the last year or so, I had seen her health deteriorate. She lost weight (which she did not need to do). She had trouble making it through a whole class and would actually leave early more often than not. I got in touch with her husband to check up on her and the situation did not sound hopeful.

For years she told us that coming to classes was what was keeping her alive. And it was true. It was not only the physical exercise that helped her clear her lungs, it was also the community. When Betty wasn’t there, we missed her.

And so, even though I am away from home and I haven’t taught a cardio class in more than 40 days, I will miss Betty. I will remind myself of her spirit and her love of sweets. I will eat all the cake and ice cream I want. I will speak my mind and I will try to remember to be kind and grateful. I will remember how important it is to keep going, to push through the limitations that our bodies set. I will remember how important it is to tell people what we appreciate about them. I will keep on dancing, for myself as well as Betty.

I officially began my yoga journey in 2005. I had taken a few yoga classes before I took my Level 1 training with YogaFit, mostly a summer session that my friend taught to the only two people who showed up (me and my husband). I regularly taught a variety of cardio classes and had taken a Pilates training program, but I still thought that yoga was just a bunch of stretching (and some woo-woo stuff I had little interest in). I took the training mostly because the Washington State University Student Recreation Center paid for me to go. My fitness perspective was changed forever. . . . But my yoga practice is still slowly evolving, mostly through my teaching.

This slow evolution is part of the point of YogaFit; they want you to take what you learn and practice and apply it, coming back for more when you’re ready. Many of the women I have met at YogaFit trainings find YogaFit and compete their 200-hour training certification in a few years. I have been working on my hours for about 12 years. My road has not been so direct. I have wavered from the YogaFit path because of the demands of my career in academia or my doubts in my ability and desire to fully commit to yoga. I have had to process and practice what I have learned at trainings—to teach it and integrate new ideas into my classes (amid my multiple other professional and personal obligations).

YogaFit has grown exponentially since I started my training. The depth and nature of the programming has also changed. When I began, there was much more of a fitness focus and in addition to the five levels, there were programs like YogaButt that were targeted to health club audiences. While it maintains the accessibility of “yoga for every body,” and makes yoga accessible to populations like my local YMCA, YogaFit provides a solid basis in yoga philosophy and tradition. It also encourages adaptation and innovation—permission to play and encouragement to take yoga beyond preconceived notions.

Today, YogaFit offers a 200-hour training and an additional 300-hour training (which qualifies for Yoga Alliance's 500-hour certification) as well as a 100-hour certification for YogaFit Warriors and a Health track (formerly YogaFit therapy). These programs are oriented toward not only teaching content, but also teaching how to teach and to integrate ideas from training into personal practice. The trainers I had—just two of the whole team—were amazing. Kelly Gardner brought wisdom and perspective from her work in the field of mental health (and was funny and full of practical accessible examples) and Sandi Cartwright was an excellent teacher, grounded and wise with a wealth of knowledge and a foundation of experience in the world of fitness.

Further, YogaFit offers a supportive community—the #YogaFitFamily that can be found at the Mind/Body Fitness Conferences across the U.S. and increasingly in social media spaces. Its emphasis on teaching and its commitment to community, as well as the ways it empowers women, has brought me back to YogaFit.

I never thought that I would do my 200-hours. There was a 5-year break between taking levels 1 through 3 and taking Level 4. I took Level 4, in part, because I was working on my book, Women and Fitness in American Culture, and felt I needed more training to make some of the arguments I was making. After taking the Level 4 training, I thought I had had enough. I learned a lot over the four days of training, but I never even thought I would take Level 5 training (the final “level” in the 200-hour certification). Level 4 included a lot of elements of traditional yoga, and I didn’t really see the relevance to my daily teaching.
In the five years since taking Level 4, I have explored some other yoga venues like the Yoga Journal Live conference in New York, and I have learned a lot of things that I have integrated into my teaching, largely because of the foundations that YogaFit gave me. In fact, what I learned from Bo Forbes in her workshops inspired me to pursue yoga further. So, I found myself back at YogaFit.

I also found myself back at YogaFit because I recently decided that I wanted to complete my 200-hour training, mostly because I wanted to further pursue my academic work in fitness, and in interdisciplinary approaches to yoga specifically. To be taken seriously, I thought, I needed at least my 200-hour certification (500 hours still seems out of reach!). So, while I found myself at the YogaFit Mind/Body Conference in Minneapolis for practical reasons, the full circle of yoga gave me so much more. Most of all, it gave me positive reinforcement of what I know, what I teach, and how important this work is to me and to my communities.

While I still struggle with some of the “woo-woo” of yoga, I can’t ignore the many connections and synchronicities that yoga generally, and YogaFit specifically, have made for me. My four days of training—one-day of Pranayama: The Science and Practice of Breath and Cultivating Prana, one day of Meditation and Mindfulness, and two days of Level 5: Integration—illustrated that I have absorbed so much more of yoga (and YogaFit) than I realized and reinforced the power of yoga in my teaching and my need to continue to develop my personal practice.

Through the conversations and connections with women who teach yoga, to the ideas and practices we explored, I returned home renewed, rejuvenated, empowered, and grounded. . . . And with new ideas, new tools, new visions, new inspirations, and new possibilities.
 
More on the development of my teaching and personal practice in part two….

I have tried many names and many incarnations of my particular "brand" of fitness dance: Pleasure, Power, and Movement; Feminist Fitness; Just Dance; Organic Dance (the biggest failure); and, most recently, Mind/Body Fitness Dance.

During the fall semester I previewed Mind/Body Fitness Dance at UMA-Bangor. I had positive feedback to this fitness class, and I decided to offer it this spring as a two-part series. While I have struggled to keep consistent attendance at this kind of fitness/dance class at the YMCA, I think that teaching this class on campus allows me to more fully share all of the nuanced aspects of this fitness form.

Starting this Thursday I will be offering Mind/Body Fitness dance on campus, Thursdays from 5:15 to 6:15. I have created a pamphlet that explains a little more about this form of fitness and dance, but it is really something that has to be experienced and embodied.

People are often afraid to dance, afraid to move outside of culture’s strictly draw boundaries of body and space. This is especially true of women and girls. We are taught to take up as little space as possible and we fear judgment and doing things wrong. I know this because I used to feel this way too.

I found confidence in fitness classes that allowed me to follow directions--and to give those directions when I became an instructor. In both cases, movements were rigid, linear, contained. In group exercise classes we generally know what to expect and the rise of manufactured fitness classes (like Zumba, Les Mills, and MOSSA) make for consistent, predictable workouts. While not everyone enjoys classes, many find safety in proscribed movements.

Invitations to try Mind/Body Fitness Dance are met with: I can’t dance. I only dance when no one’s home. I have no rhythm. I can’t follow directions. I need to be told what to do. I am so out of shape. These are excuses I hear often.

I also hear the unspoken reasons. I am insecure about my body (too fat, too thin, too something wrong). I am uncomfortable trying new things. I’m scared. I have anxiety. (I have made all these excuses too.) But all of these discomforts are exactly what Mind/Body Fitness Dances offers to alleviate.

Movement helps us let go. Music gives us a landscape. Structure and freedom help us feel safe while we also have literal and figurative space to explore.

Mind/Body Fitness Dance has changed my approach to fitness and has helped me to find more confidence, wellness, balance, and joy in my life. Sharing this movement--my art--with those who are brave enough to try something different is scary and rewarding. I share Mind/Body Fitness Dance as a tool of self-care; it is my gift to my community.

Eastport 124, on a Thursday afternoon, is private and the environment is conducive to freedom of movement. Music fills, but does not overwhelm the space and the play of light and dark enhance the dance fitness experience.

I want to invite students, faculty, staff, and community members to try this form of mind/body fitness dance. When we step into the dance, we leave these roles and become movement. Lose yourself. Find Yourself. Move and Be Moved.

The first year I got involved with my university's colloquium theme was the year that "revolution" was chosen and I was asked to speak on the theme at our annual convocation event. It was exciting to explore this theme in my classes and to share an American studies take on revolution. The next year I found the food theme to be at least as fruitful in the classroom, and the excuse to focus on food meant that we could nourish our minds as well as our bodies. I was less excited by the bioethics theme that followed, but I found myself learning new things and expanding the tried and true topics that have made my classes engaging and challenging.

When our committee settled on "innovation," I wasn't really seeing how "innovation" was anything more than a tool to promote the idea of a linear path of progress that pushes forward in attempts to fulfill mainstream definitions of success, weaving--and sometimes challenging--myths along the way.

But, the theme of innovation nagged at the back of my brain. It got me thinking, and, ultimately this is the point of having an academic theme. Taking innovation out of these obvious contexts of science, technology, and business only makes room for further innovation. Somewhat obviously, innovation in the arts and humanities is coveted. We celebrate innovative filmmakers, innovative artists, innovative writers, innovative thinkers.

I never think about my work as being innovative; I think about it being flexible, dynamic, engaging, challenging, tireless. But seeking new ways of looking at old ideas is certainly innovative (as James Cook confirms for me in his framing of the theme at Convocation), and this is at the heart of my interdisciplinary teaching and scholarship. Interdisciplinary studies are studies in innovation, finding connections in spaces where strict boundaries are drawn, creating new methods and new forms of knowledge.

The innovation theme invites us to think about what we teach and how we teach it, and part of the point of such a theme is to approach it from a variety of angles. A quick search reveals ways of teaching innovation that coalesce with interdisciplinary approaches, like this Mind/Shift list of ways to teach innovation.

While there is a long list of innovative pedagogies, and maybe even a short list of innovative technologies, at play in my teaching, what is most immediately on my mind are my ongoing explorations of fitness in humanities and interdisciplinary contexts. In our AME/WGS 306: American Fitness class this fall, we will consider fitness in a variety of texts and contexts and through an interdisciplinary lens.

We expect to see fitness as a topic in the sciences. Bodies are measurable. Time, distance, expenditure are measurable. And in the social sciences--attitudes, behaviors, and demographics are measurable and comparable and surveys and interviews provide qualitative analyses. Interdisciplinary fields like women's studies considers strong women and women who break gender norms in sports and physical education as well as the ways in which gender is portrayed in magazines, for instance. These approaches produce important insights and a foundation for innovation.

Innovations in fitness are often met with the rigid resistance of minds and bodies trained in certain kinds of movement--linear, purposeful, exacting. People drawn to the linear, competitive aspects of running might be threatened by the choreography and hip movements of a Zumba class. People drawn to dance might resist the regimented movements of weight training or the aggressive nature of kickboxing.

Innovations in scholarship meet similar kinds of resistance. Interdisciplinary inquiry threatens definable boxes and known quantities. Certainly Luddites push back against innovations in technology, ethicists push back against innovations in science, activists push back against innovation in business. When innovation meets at the intersection of fitness and academia, push back is often stillness, a lack of engagement, a quiet anger, a refusal or inability to embrace change let alone the possibility of transformation.

I detail, analyze, and extrapolate many of these fitness innovations in my book, Women and Fitness in American Culture. I also continue to highlight the work of my colleagues in this field through resources on my culture and movement website and features on my blog. My students' blogs and projects this fall will help to make this class--and interdisciplinary inquiries in the realm of fitness--more dynamic and innovative. Those interested in such innovations can join our Google+ Community.

My initially limited view of innovation in business, science, and technology left me with an underdeveloped idea of what innovation means. Innovation challenges norms, disrupts comforts, and shapes expectations. Innovation is now a conscious hammer in my toolbox and I look forward to sharing this tool with my students this fall.

Whenever I finish a project, when what I've written/birthed/sweated out goes off to the publisher, I start to find more sources that would be "perfect." I lament not finding them before I was finished even though I could not have included another source. In fact, the last of my writing process for my last book--and most things I write--is cutting out the excess, polishing the product.
 
There was a lot to cut from Women and Fitness in American Culture. It went through many incarnations and there was so much "perfect" evidence. But that doesn't mean that there weren't sources that would have been helpful, insightful, even key to the crux of my argument. The fact that there are always more examples to add to the mix speaks to the flexibility of interdisciplinary studies as well as the subject at hand.
 
Red Nails, Black Skates: Gender, Cash, and Pleasure On and Off the Ice is a book I not only highly recommend, but also wish I would have discovered before my book was written--for my own personal and professional reasons.
 
It is really quite ridiculous that I did not discover this book during my extended research process. In fact, as I scratch at the reaches of my brain, I am pretty sure that I clicked right past it. At one point I decided that I needed to narrow my scope of research, to only tangentially consider "sport." I wanted to consider sport mostly as it stood in for "fitness," as it narrows the overall quality of fitness to an athletic/competitive activity that relies upon the mastering of a set of specific skills. I remember scrolling by thinking "skating" is not "fitness." And it's not, but I didn't imagine at the time just how relevant skating is, at least in the context of Rand's work.

Since author, Erica Rand, is practically my neighbor and is a friend of a colleague of mine, and since I am pretty sure said colleague mentioned this book to me at one point, it is simply a travesty that I did not pick it up. Her arguments about pleasure, social justice, and queer bodies and queer approaches and spaces would have been helpful to round out some of my less developed arguments. For instance, while I write about the term "pleasure" scaring away participants, Rand boldly writes a whole chapter on the connection of skating and pleasure titled, "Skating Is Like Sex, Except When It Isn't" and in the first paragraph she proceeds to provide the best definition/description of sex I have ever read:

        For me, skating is a lot like sex. It's at once hot, intense, smooth, and sweet. It involves control, in ways that mix taking         and yielding it. It's rhythmic, you can improve with practice, little things can make all the difference, it can feel like flying,         and when it really works it's intensely in-body and out-of-body at the same time (46).

While I apologize, Rand embraces.

But the biggest reason I lament my oversight is that Erica Rand's book is so much like mine at the same time that it is so different from mine. It would have been helpful to have her book in a kind of role model/mentor kind of way. So many things that I was afraid to do with my book--tell my story (even the personal details), use myself as a research subject, put my body on display beside the product of my brain--Rand does with confidence, poise, and insight. She owns her work in a way that I want to own my work.
 
Even the structure/approach of my work has similarities to Rand's book. When I read her "Introduction: Skate to Write, Write to Skate," I felt like we had parallel projects. The thoughtful subtitles, the process laid bare, the personal narrative, the connection between the spheres of academia and physical embodiment/engagement, and the desire to reach audiences beyond academia, are all qualities that our work shares. She lays it out with confidence.
 
I lay it out with trepidation--a different language, a less-definable subject (skating is more concrete, fitness is diverse and abstract), an exploratory method, a distilling of theory, a weaving of less defined voices and more abstract ideas. I am still in the process of understanding how to do critical interdisciplinary work; and interdisciplinary theory and methodology will be one of my next research projects.

But, ultimately, for both of our works, transformation is the impetus. In conclusion Rand writes about "the principle of ethical fieldwork: Don't take from communities you study without giving back" (261). This is a principle that is embodied in my dual spheres of fitness and academia; for both of us, "fieldwork" is also life. She also reminds me that "there is not one single way to effect change ... in the rink only" or "to participate in anti-oppression struggles across categories of race, gender, sexuality, economics, and nation" (261). Academia and activism, pleasure and politics do not have to be binaries.
 
Our endings are even similar. She notes, "we need to get out there and do the work. And still, then again . . ." (261), while I note "if we are willing to do the work(out)." But neither of us can let that be the last word. I turn to final relaxation/rejuvenation. She turns to correcting a myth (that I perpetuate)--that Emma Goldman never actually said: "If I can't dance, I don't want to be in your revolution." But, Rand argues, she did express this sentiment. And to this sentiment, Rand adds, "And sparkle."
 
Next installment of additions and reconsiderations: Hanne Blank, The Unapologetic Fat Girl's Guide to Exercise: And Other Incendiary Acts.

A couple weeks ago at The National Women's Association annual conference, yoga was on the program. (See my related blog: "Fitness Makes Its Mark at NWSA.") I didn't have to leave the conference to get my fitness fix.

At the American Studies Association national conference, yoga--and fitness more generally--are not really on the agenda. I did attend a few panels and roundtables that took up discussions about health, but these discussions are not the same as those about fitness. Fitness asks us to think about more than health; it means considering the whole person and the bigger picture. I certainly would not propose an Organic Dance workshop at this conference! (For the important exception to this lack of fitness at ASA, please see my related blog about fitness at the ASA.)

Instead of finding fitness on the formal conference agenda, I found it down the street at The Studio DC. The yoga class I took was refreshingly different from the yoga I usually teach, and different from other yoga classes I have taken. Of course, all yoga classes have their common elements, but the instructor, the space, the style, and the location can make a big difference. The participants and the instructors I met were warm and welcoming. The class was almost evenly split between men and women, and the vast majority were young and attractive. The instructor, Christine, was amazing.

This heated vinyasa class was just what I needed. Where I teach, the temperatures vary, but it is usually cold. Sometimes it is very cold. (We have jokingly referred to our yoga as a new "cold yoga" trend.) Sometimes it is very warm, but it is never "heated." The studio was very small, and even though it felt full to me, I imagine that it is often packed much tighter. (When I went back the next morning, it was very hot and very full of people.) While I was familiar with almost all of the poses (except the most advanced forearm balances that I will probably never be able to do), it was a different experience to be guided through this class and the warmth (from temperature and people) allowed me to really sink into the experience.

The class was fast-paced, even as we were doing one breath per movement. The second class I attended, with Jane on Saturday, was even faster paced. I was surprised that I was able to keep up since I teach a slow flow yoga. I was also surprised at my ability to push myself beyond my usual limits in several poses that I rarely do in my group fitness space: forearm balance against the wall, a headstand off the wall, half moon balance with ease. When it came time for savasana, I felt like I had earned it.

But this was more than a class; I was visiting a community. The instructor greeted and engaged in conversation with each of us, identifying most everyone by name. She even remembered my name. Before class we turned 360º and introduced ourselves, and even before this, the woman next to me engaged me in conversation. (The next day, the woman next to me remembered me from the day before and also engaged me in conversation before class.) As class started we were reminded of the ongoing theme of ahisma (non-violence) and Christine reminded us that this yoga principle is, among other things, about self-care. Since self-care is something I have been trying to work on, it was nice to have this reminder. Some might even say the universe was aligning in my favor!

At the end of class, the instructor made announcements, which included one for the "Stretch for a Cause" class the following day--a class being held to raise money to help teens impacted by domestic violence. This is only one such event that The Studio DC offers. Others include "Have-a-Heart" a class held on Thanksgiving morning as a fundraiser for turkey rescue. And once a month, the studio is open to the community for free classes all day. These are the types of yoga activities that yoga studios should be offering, and being a part of this experience was a refreshing reminder that opening up space--in our hearts, in our minds, and in our communities--is ultimately what yoga is about.

Academic conferences are often difficult experiences for me. As a shy introvert, it is difficult to make connections, even with people I already know. It's also simultaneously intimidating and inspiring to see all of the amazing work being done in and around the fields I work in--American studies and Women's, Gender, and Sexuality studies. Inspiration is especially the case with the National Women's Studies Association conference, which I attended this past weekend in Cincinnati; these women are amazing.

I always learn so much at this conference, and it provides a number of opportunities that other academic conferences don't offer. For instance, the contributions by graduate students, and even undergraduate students, at this conference are welcome and encouraged. Simultaneously, the "big names" in women's and gender studies are accessible and approachable. There are certainly things that NWSA could do better, many of which are the usual weaknesses of academic spaces, but NWSA will continue to be my favorite conference. Here I'll share a few highlights (and see my related blog about Fitness at NWSA).

Women Everywhere. As one might imagine, the NWSA is attended by mostly women. There are certainly some men there, and they are as welcome as anyone else. And there is a diversity of people generally--women of all sizes, shapes, colors, sexual orientations, national and international origins, younger and older. It is inspiring simply to share the space with so many women. There are few other spaces where you can walk through crowds, make eye contact and smile, maybe even chat with someone you don't know. (In fact, after an embarrassing cash mishap at the airport, I hitched a ride with a couple of faculty members from Rutgers who welcomed me into their cab and trusted me to pay them back later.)

Workshops and Roundtables. While many conferences include alternate formats to the "talking head" presentation, NWSA does this particularly well. In fact, I walked out of a more traditional panel when one women read her paper--a critique about the One Billion Rising movement--quickly and in a monotone. People talking about their work is so much more powerful than listening to someone read, especially if they are reading in a disaffected manner. Further, I really hate it when I go to a panel to hear a particular panel and the one paper I wanted to hear is a no-show. The whole discussion is stunted with a missing piece. Roundtables and workshops are always worth attending.

I attended two roundtables that I want to share. One was with some of the editors from The Feminist Wire, a website and collective that does amazing work. The other was with the Crunk Feminist Collective who also publishes a blog. Both of these roundtables were amazing and inspiring. Both groups maintain and update their site regularly--daily and weekly, respectively. They do this work--for no pay--on top of their "real" work. Both provide insights that you will not see in the mainstream news media.

The Feminist Wire provides an extensive peer-review process and work collectively to edit articles. They publish well-known authors like bell hooks and Angela Davis as well as people who have never published. They also provide space for "college feminisms" and "elementary feminisms" and encourage young people to submit work to their site.

One of the most helpful aspects of both of these roundtable presentations was their discussion of self-care, a topic I presented on at NWSA this year, and a topic I start to explore in my book, Women and Fitness in American Culture. (More on this in my blog about Fitness at NWSA.) In an environment where everyone sacrifices their quality of life outside the academy--on my campus and in the academic world more generally--it is inspiring to hear women talk about the importance of taking a break, stepping away, or rewarding yourself for your hard work. Such is not easy to do, but it is necessary if we want to continue to serve our institutions, students, and communities.

When I arrived in Cincinnati, exhausted from the school year, let alone the travel, I had just enough time to go check in at the conference site and to pick up the fliers that my publisher said they'd have for my book. When I arrived at McFarland's display table, I was shocked to see my book--in the flesh! (Thanks, Layla!) What a treat to be able to see and touch my book. It looks so good! Perusing all the tables, there is nothing out there like Women and Fitness in American Culture. Now, how do I ensure it reaches the many diverse audiences who will be interested in my work?!

This year, and in 2010, I presented my fitness research-in-progress as a workshop, rather than reading a paper. (See my blog about Inspiration from NWSA.) I write about my 2010 workshop in Women and Fitness in American Culture, which helped inspire me to write the book. My presentation this year was "Organic Dance, Fitness, and Self-Care as a Practice for Effecting Change." I had about a dozen women who were brave enough to come dance with me at 9:25 in the morning. They were warm and encouraging and brought me much joy. I introduced some basic ideas, we danced, and we discussed. They had great questions that will help me to continue to develop my work.

But this year, there were more opportunities for fitness than I expected, and I could not make it to all of them. I missed a presentation: "Decolonizing Fitness: The Cultural Production of 'Fit' Latina Bodies." I'm hoping to connect with the author post-conference to hear more. I also missed a Roundtable: "Investigating Gender and Health from a Feminist Perspective Within a Women's Studies Department." Faculty members from the University of Michigan's Gender and Health minor talked about their curriculum and their students who proceed to "feminist-inflected careers." I'm bummed to have missed these two presentations; however, the reason I missed them was because of what I was able to attend.

The real highlight of this conference for me was the yoga class and workshop that took place on Saturday morning. At the Hilton hotel (the official hotel of the conference), Becky Thompson (of Simmons College) offered a yoga class "for everyone" at 7 a.m. I made sure my alarm was set! Three years ago I had encouraged NWSA to offer yoga and fitness classes on my conference evaluation form. I even offered to teach, but I never heard back and I haven't been able to attend the conference again until this year. With connections to NWSA leadership, Becky was more successful and, for the first time ever, yoga was a part of the NWSA program. I could not be more excited.

If it hadn't been for this yoga class, I would not have seen the related workshop on the program. In fact, even after I knew about the workshop, I had trouble finding it in the program because of its title("It's in the Breath, This Strength") and location (bottom on one page, continuing on to another). But after a quick shower and a smoothie, I attended the 9:25 workshop where Michele Tracy Berger (University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill) and Diane Harriford (Vassar College) joined Becky to talk about their experience with yoga. It was so inspiring to hear about their work, but it was also encouraging to hear other women talk about the split they feel between academia and this other world of yoga/fitness.

Each of these women, and the participants in this workshop, shared some of the ways in which yoga is being used toward social justice, and how we might better use yoga toward these purposes. Until I attended this workshop (and read sites like Decolonizing Yoga and books like 21st-Century Yoga: Culture, Politics & Practice), I felt rather isolated in the work of promoting social justice through yoga. This is a topic I broach in Women and Fitness in American Culture. Yoga is often seen as--and practiced as--an individual fitness pursuit or an individual path toward spiritual enlightenment. For me, yoga has always been so much more. For many of my students, it is so much more.

Since this workshop had the support of NWSA's president, vice-president, and treasurer, I can only assume that yoga will continue to have a place at NWSA. And I can hope that my work might inspire them/us to open up our discussions of yoga and social justice/self-care to consider fitness more generally. This is, in fact, one of the agendas of Women and Fitness in American Culture. So, I'll keep doing the work(out), and look for opportunities to work in solidarity.

When I shared excerpts from my book-in-progress with my students last fall, there were a few things that really struck them. I consider these to be "small" points that I am making, which makes it even more interesting how these "small" things resonated with them.

"Men seek to take up space; women disappear." Multiple students connected with this idea, and we discussed it from several angles. This semester a student shared a "feminist poem" with me, a piece by Lily Meyers that won the "best love poem" at the College Unions Poetry Slam Invitational at Wesleyan--
"Shrinking Women"
This spoken word piece illustrates this idea artfully. Her piece also echoes the stories I tell about my parents, and the legacies about bodies and space that we all carry from our families.

The other thing that students really connected with was a poem that I wrote called "The F Word." Students especially liked the end of the poem, a call to "fearless/fucking feminists." Students thought that this should be the title of my book and joked about how they would publish an underground version of my book with this title. For them, this is the truth that my writing spoke.

The fact that my students really connected with this title brings up some interesting points about language. Anyone who has had a conversation about feminism is familiar with the argument: why don't they just change the name? If "the f word" is so packed with misunderstandings, why don't we just call it humanism? Such conversations are short-lived in my classrooms. Once students begin to understand exactly how feminism emerged and grew, once they realize the impacts it has made on our collective and individual lives, they start to embrace--or at least understand--the term.

Claiming a feminist identity or ideology is another act of taking up space, refusing to set aside a word that has transformed the world just because of the ignorance and backlash that surrounds it.

Perhaps it was the "profanity" connected to both fearless and feminist that resonated with students. We are not used to hearing such words in our classrooms. One of my online students in my intro to American studies course has remarked multiple times after watching the recording of the class discussion that she has never heard so much profanity in a classroom. She says that she can't watch the class video when her children are around. The other students were surprised to hear this complaint. Perhaps when students discuss subjects that they are passionate about, they do not censor their language as much. Perhaps such passion has become so common place that I don't hear the "profanity" anymore.

Maybe this is what will happen to "feminism"; we will hear it so much that it will cease to register as "profanity." It will cease to offend those who prefer the softer, fuzzier idea of humanism (which is not at all the same as feminism). The word will not lose its weight; it will sink in and settle. It will take up space.

Fitness programs love t-shirts. Run a 5K, get a t-shirt. Lose the most weight, get a t-shirt. Part of a team, matching t-shirts. We don't even have to do anything physical--donate money, get a free t-shirt. Years ago, when I worked as a fitness instructor at the Student Recreation Center at Washington State University, this t-shirt announced a kind of motivational campaign that asked "what keeps you moving?"

Because I am a busy person, I am asked a version of this question quite often. Since I don't drink coffee and most people assume my energy must come from caffeine, usually my first answer is water. Some of it might come from my almost-daily Synergy kombucha tea. But, really, it is fitness that keeps me moving. The more I move, the more energy I have to keep moving.

I use the term "fitness" rather than "exercise" because fitness encompasses not only a range of activities, but a state of being and a mindset as well. Making a place for fitness in my life is more than just an exercise routine or a regimen--it is a recognition that strength, balance, flexibility, and endurance are building blocks not only for health and fitness but for life itself.

During the academic school year, I teach a fitness class (or two) 5 or 6 mornings a week. I don't teach the early morning (5:45 a.m.)classes, but 8:00 or 9:30 (or even 10:30 on Saturday) is early enough to still be "early" for me, a recovering night owl. Sometimes my 8:00 a.m. yoga class is really difficult to get out of bed for, especially when the dark Maine winter morning greets me and especially when I have been teaching or working late the evening before. But, I have to be there. People are depending on me.

This summer I decided to lighten my teaching load and gave up my Tuesday morning class, making Thursday morning my only "early" morning. My Tuesdays without yoga have generally been lazy and unproductive. I usually take a nap and sometimes I feel depressed for most of the day. I don't even start moving, so I can't keep moving. Thursdays are different. I'm done with class by 9:30 and I get an amazing amount of work done. It's a good reminder for me that I need to keep moving. Whenever I think about giving up one of my morning classes, I remember the way I feel after class. Perfect and amazing and ready to take on any challenge my day holds.

So, teaching keeps me moving. Yoga keeps me moving my body and my mind. Having a class of people waiting for me, keeps me moving. The transformation from cold, grouchy, tired, grumbly, angry to relaxed and energized--for me and my students--keeps us moving. And as transformative as yoga is, I get as much from my cardio classes. The types of movement may be different, but they are all part of a bigger fitness picture--a way of moving through life as much as through our bodies.

I am not a big fan of the t-shirt. I find them to be uncomfortable and unflattering. They choke me and they never fit right. They're hot and they restrict my movement. They are also a way of advertising a message on the outside of our bodies to anyone who is looking. They can be a way of branding ourselves, or communicating something that is important to us--clothing with a cause, a campaign, or an attitude. The t-shirt is practically disposable, moving from one trend to the next, even when the cause is a worthy one. And more than likely, someone's underpaid sweat--someone with no choice but to keep moving--made the t-shirt in the first place.

What keeps us moving is what we internalize; what keeps us moving is what we know that we need. We have to keep moving so that we can keep finding that feeling and so we can move ourselves as well as others. The t-shirt is one tool, but what's more important is what's underneath it.