My 24’ x 72” Rectangle of Love
I was looking at my yoga mat the other day while I was in downward dog in class.
I mean *really* looking at it.
It’s a faded green 20 + year old mat made by Manduka – I remember it was a bit of a splurge but felt as though if I was serious about yoga (I was/am) I needed a mat that reflected that.
Its sticky label in the corner has long-since fallen off; I’m sure there’s still embedded dirt and sand from various outdoor classes I’ve taken and vacations I’ve taken it on, and best of all, you can see foot scuff marks from years of jumping into a forward fold and sliding through countless chaturangas.
Every time I do my special “origami” fold when we do frog pose (folded lengthwise in half, then each side of the mat folded into the center to provide maximum knee cushioning) I marvel at its ability to never reveal where it was creased; in a few minutes it goes back to its original fold-free shape.
It's a place where I’ve sweated, where I’ve daydreamed, where my mind has wandered, and where I’ve experienced the best focus of my life. It’s where I’ve internally cursed, and yes – I’ve even cried. It’s been the staging area of poses I didn’t think I could do (and surprised myself), poses that I’ve attempted and didn’t succeed, and it’s been a calm place where I’ve just sat. And meditated.
Even slept. (Often).
It amazes me – when we’re really packed in should-to-shoulder for some sold-out classes – that we have room to do our practice.
“How can I do this when everyone’s mat is so close to each other?” I wonder.
And them I remember: I’m *always* confined to this 24” x 72” space. This is always the parameter I’m working in. With the exception of doing “Wild Thing” (where we temporarily go outside the parameter of the mat) I rarely go outside this boundary even when there *is* room. I am secure in this prescribed area – not confined.
When I’m in child’s pose, my nose is buried in the mat, and smell can only be described as home. It’s years of equal measures sweat and Thieves’ Oil to clean it off (that musky, clove-y smell is sweet and familiar and quintessentially “yogic”) and all mat smells grounds and calms me. Instead of the traditional hand placement in downward dog, you can grab either side of the matt for a more “plugged in” experience. You can curl the upper right corner under to indicate that you don’t want adjustments. And at just 4.7mm, I still require knee padding on most knee-bearing poses, but it’s also surprisingly soft and insulated.
I’m hard-pressed to find a more comforting, comfortable place to be.
The rules are unspoken but sacrosanct: you *never* touch someone else’s mat. You never reposition it (especially if your goal is to take over that spot), and even if a mat is blocking the door after everyone’s exiting, you’re best to wait for the owner of the mat to move it out of the way. One never steps on anyone else’s mat, and if you’re doing partner work, a negotiation needs to take place as to *whose* mat is going to be used, and if there is absolute approval for the other student to be on it.
Such a beautiful, rarified space is the yoga mat.
Splurge, or don’t; vibe with a strong pattern or don’t (I love the stripey ones which remind me of that stretch taffy we used to eat as kids), and go with whatever color speaks to you. Just know that it’s not just a piece of athletic equipment. It’s much more symbolic, much more significant, and sublimely more personal than a kettle ball or a set of weights could ever be. If you’re as bonded to yoga as I am, your mat is your home away from home, a refuge and the epitome of a safe place to be.






