Brian Lim

Stretching for my inner Zen

It’s been almost three years since I moved to Beijing, and in an effort to make up for all the time I spend indoors avoiding the grey blanket of smoke outside, I’ve made good use of the gym. During my workouts, I’ve been impressed by members of yoga classes who bend into unfathomable contortions while an instructor demonstrates the positions as effortlessly as drinking a glass of water.

I’d smile for a moment, secure in the arena of sweltering men pumping iron with popping eyes. During all these years, yoga was to me, a feminine pursuit akin to teary dramas and swooning over dashing men in Speedos – nothing I needed to think about.

Of course, I knew that men practiced yoga. Advertisements for spas in hotels display images of men who appear to be having the most relaxing time of their lives. But I always believed that being able to wake up at an ungodly hour without worrying about attending work was what really put the smile on their faces.

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