My favorite place in New York

Why I’m always at Sky Ting

Last Sunday I woke up more miserable than I’ve been in months. Tired, sore, a little stressed, but mostly sick of New York’s cold weather to the degree that I’d stand in the kitchen muttering to myself, asking why anyone ever leaves Los Angeles. I had a yoga class booked for 1:15pm. Motivated by habit and the shame of a late cancellation, I dragged myself out of bed, grabbed a coffee and took the 30-minute M train to Chinatown

An hour later I was beaming. Sky Ting has that effect. It’s my favorite place in New York, and it’s not all that close of a competition. 

I’ve been practicing yoga for eight years, starting out with an on-demand app while stranded in central Connecticut working for ESPN. It prepped my body for long runs, gave me a break from the craziness of a non-stop NBA news cycle, and helped kill the time in a torched state with little to do. When I moved to LA, I did hot yoga 3-4 times a week, drenching myself in sweat to lose weight. I became loose acquaintances with a few teachers at this one Highland Park spot, but I mostly just showed up and left. 

By my third visit to Sky Ting’s downtown yoga studio, I’d exit their seventh-floor elevator and hear, “Hey, Austin!” — a greeting that took me months to get used to. These people know my name? Did I ever introduce myself? Do I … have to take my headphones out when I show up now? 

I wasn’t sure what I liked about it at first, but I felt compelled to return the next day. That has snowballed into a six-days-a-week habit for the past year and a half. Now, when friends visit New York, I ask them where they want to get dinner, and when they want to go to Sky Ting.

Sometimes I take the talent of the teachers for granted, because Sky Ting can stand out for simply having the best vibe of any fitness space in the city. People gather in a narrow hallway before setting up their mats, gossiping about bad dates and complimenting outfits. It’s impeccably designed. Things can gets a little woo-woo, but they remain on the unobtrusive and fun side of the line.

I’ve visited studios all over, and I’ve never seen one do the open-to-all-levels thing so well. I brought my stepdad, who has little to no experience, and he got hooked. I’m probably, like, slightly above average in terms of my yoga knowledge and experience, and I’ve never felt bored or too challenged here. I’d say that goes for my friends who are advanced teachers, too.

There’s a general house style, I guess, and a rough through-line of Katonah and other traditions with a lean toward meditation and breathwork. But one of the things I appreciate the most is that teachers are empowered to do their own thing. Getting the same, formulaic hour every time works for some, but not for me. Chauncie Parchment will spend an entire class gingerly guiding you through the process of flipping from dog to wheel and back. Bonnie Crotzer will show you how to floss.

Chelsey Forbes

is a party. It feels a little different every time, but in that space and with those people, it also always feels like Sky Ting, the only place I can reliably switch off my competitiveness and focus exclusively on what’s happening in that one room.

In December, I was sitting in the sauna at Mission studio in East London, talking to a few of their regulars.

“What kind of yoga do you do in New York?”

“Oh, uh, mostly Katonah, I guess”

“What’s that?”

“It’s, like … um … oh, I don’t know, actually. There’s a lot of focus on breathing? And body metaphors and techniques, I guess? And less about repeating a bunch of flows for strength stuff.”

“Oh, cool.”

I struggle to find the words to describe the practice well, I think partially out of an aversion to sounding like a horrible yoga bro. Nevine Michaan, the founder of Katonah Yoga, has describe it this way:

Katonah Yoga belongs to the global open source network of self realization. The language of Katonah is metaphor and analogy; identifying the body as the abode, exploring the body as one’s instrument, the mind as the musician and the breath as the melody. The power of analogy allows the individual to use life experiences to define the personal and understand the collective. The Katonah practices use the keys of breathwork to enter into states of meditation. Breathwork is incredibly accessible, practical, magical and transformative. 

And, yeah, that’s just not a thing I can pull off saying out loud. But I enjoy it, even if the depths of Katonah yoga are difficult to access during the one-hour classes open to all levels that I’m usually attending. You can value the intricate thought and theory behind the thing you’re doing even without mastering it yourself.

I’ve only had two communities as an adult, both of which came into my life in my 30s: Cool World and Sky Ting. For a while they were intertwined.

During my first month as a Sky Ting member, I took more classes than anyone else. By a lot. I know because Krissy Jones, the studio’s founder, gave me deserved shit for it. I had just moved to New York, didn’t really know anyone, and especially didn’t know what the hell to do with my life. So I’d go to Sky Ting in the morning and often come back at night for a double. As I lightly spiraled out, unsure of what I wanted beyond meaningless tech work, that’s what kept me grounded. 

When I started cooking at Cool World, I went from No. 1 in Sky Ting classes attended to No. 1 in late cancels. I was scrambling, trying to balance two jobs, this new restaurant world, my personal life, and my health. I’d often wake up feeling aches all over my body, hungover and running on a few hours of sleep. I’d roll over and cancel the 8am class I’d ambitiously signed up for. But I’d still force myself to get on a mat in time for the 9:30 or the noon session so I could practice before needing to clock in for dinner service. It kept me going.

A few times a month, a server would pop into the kitchen and give me a heads up that a friend from Sky Ting was in the dining room. I’d find a quiet opening to walk out, give them a hug, and say a surprised thank you for coming. They’d look at me like I was crazy. Like, “Of course, you’re part of this thing with us, this is what we do.” I don’t think they knew those visits made it easier to survive the brutal pushes when orders would never stop.

Sky Ting has been around since 2014, home to multiple studios before scaling back to this one Chinatown space during the pandemic. It’s been a thing in New York long before I knew about it. And when it eventually expands to a new location later this year, I’ll miss my favorite little corner of the city. But I’ll know the important things will still be there. The community and the practice and the bullying texts asking why I’ve missed class the past three days. I’m grateful that’s not going anywhere.

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