Yoga is not a spectator sport, but in this gym, three adults look on with radios in their pockets. To further disturb the equilibrium of this Eastern practice, the radios interupt with static and periodic reports, alerting the receivers to what’s going on at the other corners of West Valley’s Decker Lake Youth Center campus. A fight could break out, some one might escape, and so, in this case, the yogi’s usual unwritten code of silence is broken.
But despite these distractions, Jennifer Steinwurtzel, volunteering her Friday afternoon to teach her weekly class, keeps her cool at the head of the room. When the class began, some may have giggled uncomfortably, but now her peaceful demeanor steers the mood of the room. The six girls and three boys willingly follow instruction for an hour moving from “dog pose” to “proud warrior,” which impresses those watching, including the supervisor. Elsewhere they chose to deliberately disobey laws, acts that landed them a long-term stay in Utah’s juvenile justice system for anywhere between six and 12 months.
According to the state, these students are “delinquent youths,” a designation that describes a person age 10 to 18 who has committed a crime. These nine are at the center because they have violated parole by failing drug tests or were charged with a misdemeanor. Often it’s a repeat offense. For the women, this is the last stop before jail, and, historically, only 30 percent change their behaviors enough here to avoid prison later on.
For a few months now, Steinwurtzel has been donating a few hours on Thursdays and Fridays to sharing her yoga practice at coeducational Decker Lake, which houses up to 30 boys and 10 girls at any one time, and at a minimal security “observation and assessment” facility for boys who have committed lesser crimes.
“I was really nervous going into it, going, ‘I don’t know how it’s going to go,’ or ‘What if I can teach them anything?’ There’s all this self-doubt that I go through,” she admits. “But at the end of the day, I just believe that if you show up for other people, it’s such a beautiful thing, you know? We all have something to give, and mine happens to be yoga.”
At the observation and assessment facility, where she teaches 16 boys, Steinwurtzel says she has seen a marked change since they first met. “At first they were like, ‘What are you doing here?’ and now, when I go, the room is clean, mats are lined up perfectly. I walk in and I hear them deciding, ‘What does she like? Does she like seven in a row?'”
Unlike teaching classes at studios, Steinwurtzel recognizes that she must, in some ways, earn the Decker Hill students’ respect. “I rely on the students too. I believe we’re in it together, so even though I’m playing teacher and they’re playing student, it takes both of us. If I ever got scared or worried, we can help each other. I’m very honest in my teaching. If I felt uncomfortable, I’d say something,” she says.
“But I realize that for them to be able to close their eyes might be a scary thing to do in a room full of people. There are a lot of things that automatically, I’m like, ‘Trust me. Just do it. Trust me.’ And more and more, they do.”
Steinwurtzel says she developed her effective “firm but nice” teaching style after years of experience working in art therapy in New York City high schools — her profession and home before moving to Park City last year. “This is what I’ve always believed as an art therapist: When you provide a safe space for someone, they really respect it and they’ll want to keep it,” she says. “So they’ll do everything in their power to hold on to that.”
But Steinwurtzel doesn’t consider her approach much different from other classes she teaches privately in Park City or at Flow Yoga studio in Salt Lake City. Like every class, she says she begins by reading the energy of the room, and structures the lesson around her assessment.
“Even in studios, you never know who you’re working with you can’t assume just because people can pay $15 for a class that their lives are together and on track,” she says. “If anything, I’ve always been taught that the teachings of yoga are not meant for me to keep to myself. They’re meant to be passed on,” she explains. “And for whatever reason, I’ve always had a knack for working with adolescents and service work. In some way, I feel is what I should do, just do it.”
Lydia Velasquez, the supervisor of Decker Lake’s wing for girls, was open Steinwurtzel’s ideas. She says she spends a lot of time thinking, “How do you motivate these guys? How do you give these girls something to care about?”
“I didn’t have any concerns, because I’m new here,” Velasquez explains. “I haven’t been here for a riot or anything. It makes me unbiased. I just said, ‘Let’s try this.'”
The center welcomes other volunteers as well, including LDS volunteers on Thursdays and featuring guests like Kim Peek, the man on whom the 1988 film “Rain Man” was based. In June, Valley Mental Health will start a 10-week session on life skills.
“What I enjoyed about (Steinwurtzel’s) class was that there wasn’t a tense feeling, there weren’t any blocks,” Velasquez says. “I didn’t have to stand next to someone to calm them down. There was a real open, soothing feeling.”
The girls will complain, she says, but they all eventually decide to go to Steinwurtzel’s afternoon lesson.
“Some of us are required to come and some of us aren’t, but I like it because it’s relaxing and peaceful,” explains one girl at the end of Friday’s class. “It brings some inner peace And it’s great that we have people that are willing to donate their time and come help us.”
For more information about Jennifer Steinwurtzel, visit jlsyoga.com.