In my early 20s I accepted a year-long internship at a yoga retreat center on the East Coast. It was my first time living outside of Michigan, my home state. Until then, I hadn’t thought of myself as obviously Midwestern. Even though my parents are both born-and-raised Midwest folks (my dad is from Chicago and my mom is from Grand Rapids, Michigan), I made a point to always say “soda” (not pop). I had no idea how to play Euchre, and I didn’t even know what cornhole was. So naturally, I was floored when, after casually mentioning I came from Michigan to a new East-Coast friend, she held back a laugh and replied, “I know.”
She knew? How? What gave me away?
“Kat,” she said, “the day we met, you asked me where I’d gone to college, and you pronounced it CAH-LIDGE.”
Of course. My vowels betrayed me. I guess you can take the girl outta the Midwest, but her nasally vowels will follow her wherever she goes.
Now, over a decade later, I still notice my vocal cords dipping into “pure Michigan” territory every so often. It almost always happens when I’m teaching a yoga class. Maybe because I’m going for a calm, comforting vibe and subconsciously embody the characteristic Midwestern sweetness of my mom—the type of parent who would always give me a flat Vernors to sip on when I fell sick. Or maybe it’s because there’s a lot to say when you’re teaching a yoga class, and we Midwesterners are notoriously thrifty with our syllables. After all, “turn’n faceda meer” is much quicker to say than “turn and face the mirror,” right?
This got me thinking: What other midwestern oddities might be particularly conducive to a yoga environment?
I mean, picture it: You’ve finished a long day at work, and holey moley are ya stressed! You hop on the expressway, and just in the nick of time pull into the well-salted parking lot of your favorite yoga studio. You take a breath and a quick swig of Faygo (Rock N’ Rye of course), and grab your favorite mat from the trunk (you got a great deal on it at Meijer by the way). You step into the lobby, slide off your tennis shoes in the adjacent mudroom, and head in for a blissful experience including these uniquely Midwestern touches:
Midwest Mantras
Just like traditional Sanskrit mantras, Midwest-speak can be hard to translate directly because the sounds themselves hold the meaning. Examples include ya, eh, uff da, say ya to da UP, eh (for the advanced yoga-yoopers), and of course, the universal sound of ope.
Puppy Chow Pose
This is pretty much the same as the classic heart-opener apanasana, also known as “puppy pose”—chest to the floor, hips over knees, arms extended forward—but while you’re in the pose, you get to nibble on Chex muddy buddies (which any Midwesterner worth their road salt calls “puppy chow”).
Downward Facing Chicago Dog
This can be any variation of the traditional pose you like as long as there’s absolutely no ketchup involved.
Mitten Mudra
Hasta mudras (hand gestures) are often used in yoga to direct prana (vital energy). Michiganders like me use a sort of mudra of our own, where we hold up a hand and point to a particular location in order to direct folks to the exact part of the mitten we’re from (We also have another mudra commonly used on the expressway, but that one isn’t really appropriate for a yoga class.)
Cheesehead stand
Honestly just a regular headstand, but you get to wear a cheese hat.
Lutfisk Pose
Similar to a typical restorative fish pose (matsyasana), you’re draped over a bolster in a serenely supported backbend. But in this deluxe version, you get to pull in even more props so you’re tucked into your very own cozy casserole dish (The lefse is optional).
As class nears its end, your teacher invites you to settle into savasana and offers you a drop of essential oil that somehow smells just like ranch dressing. You accept, drifting into a delightful Hidden-Valley-infused relaxation.
When you emerge you feel renewed. Refreshed.
Will you be back tomorrow? You betcha.
Kat is the author of Yoga Inversions: Your Guide to Going Upside Down and co-author of Yoga Where You Are. She grew up in Michigan and today lives and teaches yoga in Los Angeles where she STILL can’t find a decent Detroit-style pizza.
