Slower than the other studio. On purpose. Yoga, pilates, breath — every class is seventy-five minutes, never sixty, because rushing past the point isn't the point.
Est. 2024 · Hudson ValleyRae Linden taught at a chain studio in White Plains for nine years. She watched the schedule shrink — ninety minutes, then seventy-five, then sixty, then forty-five, all to fit the lunch crowd and the post-work rush. The poses got faster. The breath got shorter. The teachers stopped saying things like "stay here a little longer," because there wasn't a little longer anywhere on the clock.
So she quit. She spent the next two years studying with Patricia Walden in Cambridge, learning Iyengar precision and the patience that comes with it. When her great-aunt's barn in the valley needed a tenant, she signed the lease the same week, pulled the wide-plank floors back into the light, and opened a single small studio with one rule on the door: every class is seventy-five minutes. No clock-watching. No rushing past the point.
Three years in, the room is usually full. Most students walk in for a Slow Start on a Monday and stay for a year. Rae teaches six of the ten weekly classes herself.
Founder. Trained nine years at a chain studio, then two with Patricia Walden in Cambridge. Teaches Slow Start, Open Heart, Breath & Bone, both Saturday and Sunday long classes.
Came to yoga the long way — through ten years as a hospice nurse. Teaches The Long Stretch on Monday and The Quiet Sunday at dawn. Reads the room before she reads the sequence.
Mat and reformer pilates, slow tempo, deep cueing. Holds The Midday Hour midweek and Parent & Baby on Saturday morning, where the babies usually fall asleep in the first five minutes.
One room. Wide-plank pine floors that creak under a downward dog. The big door doesn't quite close in the summer humidity — we leave it propped open and let the river air in. A wood stove October through March, lit before the first class and tended between sessions. Twelve mats, three blocks per student, folded wool blankets in the corner. No mirrors. No retail. No music unless Rae forgets and puts on Arvo Pärt.