Before I even walked into the studio to take the Class by Taryn Toomey, I could smell the palo santo burning—and knew I was already home. Quick lesson: Spiritually minded folks use palo santo like sage, burning the supposed "holy wood" to cleanse negative energies from a space or aura. If you know anything about me, you know that I eat that up, even though I'm aware that my ever-growing healing-crystal collection is nothing more than a pretty pile of expensive rocks.
Despite that functional knowledge, I still can't get enough of that #mysticallife. So to be hit with the familiar olfactory delight of palo santo before I even walked in the door? I knew I was in the right place. And man, did I really need that. Despite my affinity for yoga, running, and all things fitness, you could say I fell off the wagon a bit this summer (and um, beginning of fall). And seemingly nothing could get me back on track—not the comfort of my favorite yoga instructor at my favorite studio, nor the allure of Holy Water yoga, a super-cool, harder-than-it-sounds floating yoga class. I was in a rut.
So when my editor tasked me with attending the Class by Taryn Toomey—led specifically by tribe leader Toomey herself, as opposed to her disciples—I couldn't resist. I mean, if there was any workout class that could get me excited about working out again, it had to be THE Class, right?!
Described as a "cathartic movement experience," the Class is a 60-minute boutique fitness class that features repetitive movements of basic calisthenics, HIIT intervals, and a carefully curated playlist. Sounds pretty straightforward, until you learn that this "heart-opening" workout has a reputation of sorts for reducing many of its participants into wailing, sobbing puddles of emotion within the hour. No exaggeration.
But everyone who sobs swears the Class by Toomey (whose name you may have heard of through her recent collaboration with Lululemon) is a visceral experience, one that moves you emotionally while also burning calories and building muscle. And considering the type of clientele it attracts—we're talking lots of celebrities here—I figured I'd be in for quite the experience. And I was right.
The NYC studio is airy, bright, and almost entirely white. It's stocked with sticks of burning palo santo (meant to banish negativity), and selenite wands (to cleanse the aura). It's also decorated with more succulents than I've ever seen outside of a legit garden or plant shop. In other words: This was my metaphysical dream. I love trying all kinds of alternative practices, despite the limited or nonexistent evidence of scientific efficacy. There's just something so calming about exploring the spiritual realm in the city that never sleeps.
Despite borrowing from yogic and meditative practices, the transcendental Class is more like bootcamp set to emo music from the early aughts, like burpees done to the beat of angsty Snow Patrol songs. But actually, though, Toomey has you do one exercise repetitively for the duration of an entire song, some of which run up to six minutes. (I'd learned about this structure before I went, so I definitely made sure to wear my watch.) As for the exercises, not only were there full burpees, complete with jump tucks, there were also mountain climbers, squats, and other classic strength moves woven throughout. Don't let the succulents fool you—everyone there came to sweat.
Speaking of, I was borderline appalled at how much I was sweating—easily the most out of anyone in the 50-or-so-person class. But it felt SO good to move my body again in those ways, especially on a Monday morning after a weekend where I essentially forgot what healthy eating was.
She moved throughout the room seamlessly, despite almost everyone's flailing arms and bodies, talking about toxic energy—and how we had to get that nonsense out of the room. As someone who cleanses her aura with selenite nightly, I was feeling her words. Toomey also encourages you to do animalistic, primal body movements. Normally, I'd be mortified by the idea of "dancing like no one's watching," but at the Class, it felt downright cathartic to move, well, like Elaine doing her thing on the dance floor. (What? I'm a heinous dancer. No rhythm here.)
Real talk, now: I didn't just exercise in the Class—I exorcised my demons, too. I didn't burst into tears during jumping jacks, exactly, but I came pretty damn close. And that kind of behavior at the Class is common. So common, in fact, that after the several-minute Savasana at the end, I saw another Class-taker sobbing on her mat, right near the setup I really wanted to Instagram. But I respected her privacy and settled for the below shot instead, because you don't mess with the Class's no-photography policy—or its dedicated clientele's emotional state.
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I also really respected Toomey's sailor mouth, mostly because I have one too. But I think more so because she encouraged everyone to look inside themselves, find stagnant emotions, and sweat that shit out. Which, as I mentioned, I'm pretty sure I did more than any other person in the class.
Most important, though, the Class reignited my desire to work out. It fired me up to start sweating regularly again. What the Class and Toomey reminded me, more than anything, is that nothing is better for banishing all the bad stuff than a workout.
The whole experience was intoxicating, I thought—and judging by her many adoring fans, I'm not alone. Though, part of that could have just been the palo santo.
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