You don’t want to be that person, you know, the one who everyone  stays as far away from at yoga class because their mat reeks so bad and has so much sweat and bacteria growing on it that it might very well be  the next step in the evolution of yoga.  The living, breathing, stinky mat.

But no, oh no, not your mat.  You would never sweat all over your mat, roll it up sopping wet and then throw it in the sweltering trunk of your car.  Trust me, it’s not going to be so hot in the trunk that it cooks the little suckers who are throwing a party on your yoga mat.  The heat just gets them even more riled up and excited to plant a foot fungus on your forehead the next time you rest in child’s pose.  Now that’s a lovely thought isn’t it?

Well, it’s been a while since I’ve written about how to clean a yoga mat, and since I initiated my freshly-delivered yoga mat last night with more than just a few drops of sweat, it’s about time for a re-attack.  Feel free to chime in with any tips or advice (”yogahacks”) if you’re already one of those who knows how to baby your mat like it’s a Rolls Royce.

 

First off, the method you use for cleaning your mat depends on what type of mat you have and how dirty it is.   For daily preemptive action, you should at least wipe your mat off with a towel after each use.   Some like to spritz their mat with a little mat spray before toweling it off or they use a handy wipe or it’s costlier cousin, the yoga mat wipe, to scrub away the nasties.  Beware, however, that you don’t use mat spray just to cover up a smelly mat problem.  Some people are allergic to it as well.

Even if you take the time to regularly wipe down your mat, it could still use a more thorough cleansing every couple weeks if you use the mat a lot.  Cleaning a lightly soiled  mat is as simple as grabbing a sponge or rag and rubbing out the oily spots with a solution of two cups of water and four drops of dish soap. If you don’t want to use soap, you can also create a 50% water/50% organic cider vinegar solution, which is what Manduka recommends for the Black Mat Pro and eKO if you don’t want to fork over the dough for actual yoga mat wash.   Once the mat is clean, rinse the solution off with fresh water, and then rub the mat down with a dry terry cloth towel and hang it out to air dry.

The true stinky mat. If you’ve neglected your mat for so long that it’s practically alive, then you may want to choose to fully submerse it in a solution of warm water and mild detergent or mat cleanser.   Once the mat is scrubbed off and rinsed clean, squeeze out any excess water, roll the mat up with a dry towel,  and then smoosh the moisture out by stepping on it.  Finally, hang the mat up to air dry.

One final method for dealing with a dirty mat is to throw it into the washing machine on the gentle cycle with a little detergent and cold water.  I’ve never personally used this method, so I can’t vouch for the effect the washing machine has on a yoga mat, or vice versa, but can confirm that some manufacturers like Manduka highly recommend against using the washing machine, both for the sake of the mat and the machine.  If you do choose to go this route, at the very least, remove the mat before the washing machine hits the spin cycle.

Obviously these are only a few of the numerous methods for keeping a yoga mat healthy and clean.  Just remember, don’t be “that guy.”  If you have a proven method that works for you or your particular mat and would like to share, please leave a comment.

       

“Imagine you go into a Catholic Church and there’s something called genuflection, where you go down on one knee,” he said. “What if a person comes out of the ceremony — which is supposed to be about their relationship with God — and they say, wow, my legs feel a little sore! And they go home and open up a shop and have people do genuflection for an hour to disco music. And partner genuflection, at that! It’s completely taking it out of context.”

No one seems to know the origins of partner yoga, but its popularity probably has something to do with two of American yoga’s most influential figures — Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, who popularized Ashtanga yoga (which led to Vinyasa, also known as “flow”), and B.K.S. Iyengar, who developed the Iyengar system. Both trained in India, but, according to Dharmanidhi, they focused most of their energy on asana practice rather than pranayama (breathing) or meditation, and the popularity of their systems cemented American yoga’s emphasis on physical poses.

What’s more, many of the current wave of American yoga adopters are athletic types who also gravitate toward activities like dancing, martial arts and gymnastics, which all involve frequent work with partners. It’s unsurprising, then, that when these people started teaching yoga, they incorporated partner work into their classes. This confluence of factors — a culture that emphasized the physical aspects of yoga, teachers with backgrounds in other partner-based athletics, and the American desire to always be doing something new — eventually led to the development of partner yoga. Toss in a healthy dose of New Age”body awareness” and pushing of “comfort zones,” and you’ve got a bona fide fitness fad.

Indeed, there are entire movements devoted to partner yoga — from Contact Yoga to Trust Yoga, Danskinetics and Yogassage, to name just a few. (That’s not even mentioning other non-partner-based atrocities, like disco yoga, reggae yoga, punk yoga and, not kidding, naked yoga.)

At the moment, the trendiest of the partner-based versions seems to be Acroyoga, a San Francisco-based movement that combines “the spiritual wisdom of yoga, the loving kindness of Thai massage, and the dynamic power of Acrobatics.” In other words, you do some yoga moves with a partner and then spend an hour or so climbing on top of one another. It sounded like my own personal hell. But when Thomas jokingly invited me to come with him to an Acroyoga class, I decided to say yes.
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Jan. 23, 2008 | My dislike of partner yoga started with a stranger’s sweaty thighs. I had just moved from Brooklyn, N.Y., to the San Francisco Bay Area, and I was working my way through a Sunday morning Vinyasa class with the same discipline, determination and Type A drive I bring to most attempts at relaxation. But I kept getting distracted by the young man next to me.

To be specific, I was distracted by the moisture he was producing. No sooner had we started sun salutations than the man began to sweat, energetically and abundantly. By the time the class was halfway through, drops of perspiration rolled off his nose with the regularity of a leaking faucet, and a puddle had formed on the floor in front of his mat. Instead of wiping off his face with a towel, he removed his shirt. Now sweat began to drip from a new spot: his nipples.

I, too, was disgusting. Perspiration comes easily to me; I like to say I have a gift. So I was caught off-guard when, after a lovely series of hip openers, the instructor asked us to pair up with a partner. First, I was confused. (A partner? For what?) Then indignant. (I hate group work.) Then anxious. (What if no one wants to be my partner?) By the time I had worked through my emotional process, everyone else was paired up. The young man was mine.
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