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"  Photo: Morning Gloryville  At my relatively advanced age, yoga any time after 7 p.m. is basically an entire night&amp;#039;s activity. So sometimes I want my yoga to have intimations of a night on the town. Which is to say, I want low light, good-looking people, sweat, inspiring outfits, and good music.  My usual solution is Y7 Studio in Williamsburg. On their wall is a mural that reads &amp;quot;A Tribe Called Sweat,&amp;quot; which pretty much tells you everything you need to know. Y7 offers Vinyasa classes that are so punishingly hard\u2014think of crow pose held for 5 minutes on each side\u2014that the only salvation is that the room is bathed in candlelight and pulsing with the sounds of Drake, Beyonc\u00E9, and the Weeknd.  But could I work even more &amp;quot;club&amp;quot; into my yoga routine? Most definitely. It&amp;#039;s this pursuit that lands me in front of Verboten, a club I&amp;#039;m not cool enough to have ever set foot in, milling about with a dozen or so other inversion enthusiasts. We&amp;#039;ve all signed up for something called Deep House Yoga, which, to me, sounds more like Saturday Night Live than Saturday Night Fever. Oh yeah, and it&amp;#039;s a Tuesday.  Photo: Morning Gloryville  Inside, the floor of the nightclub becomes the studio, with mats packed in like a parking lot. A disco ball spins up above. Incense wafts everywhere and there are projections of forests, beaches, and starry nights on the walls. My fellow yogis/ravers are a mix of tattooed men with stubble and lithe girls in printed leggings.  Related:  Trying Out the Boutique Fitness Trend Where Pilates Meets Coachella  Once the class begins, the DJ opens up with, yep, deep house. It&amp;#039;s a genre that&amp;#039;s a little too repetitive and spacey for me. Suffice it to say, the high moment, musically, was a cover of &amp;quot;People Are Strange&amp;quot; by the Doors. Personally, I&amp;#039;d rather have my sun salutations set to Jay Z or, say, How to Dress Well. The yoga was a fairly basic hour-long Vinyasa class, but I barely broke a sweat. More than anything, I was disappointed by the fact that no one really talked to each other. I expected a night at a club and got something less social than a junior high school dance. As Jay might say: onto the next one. My next sweat-meets-swank mission, I find myself wandering around a deserted loft in Greenpoint at 8 a.m. looking for Morning Gloryville, a London-based morning dance party that started a year ago and has recently made its way to the US. &amp;quot;[Founders Samantha Moyo, an events producer, and Nico Thoemmes, a bodywork therapist,] wanted to introduce stressed city workers, ex-ravers, and freelancers\u2014pretty much everyone\u2014to a brand new way of having fun, exercising, energizing, getting into their bodies, unleashing their raw authentic selves, and connecting with others in a beautiful and meaningful way,&amp;quot; says Annie Fabricant, who organizes the New York event.  Photo: Morning Gloryville  The reason I&amp;#039;m not already whittling my waist in the dark? The party has recently been relocated to Bushwick. Oh, okay. No worries\u2014I share a cab to the new location with a fellow lost morning partier. I keep thinking that this would be a wonderful Meet Cute for us (and that we should probably fall in love), but I lose him as soon as I arrive. Guess not? Related:  Could a European Weight Loss Program Really Suck My Fat Away?  Did I mention that Morning Gloryville Brooklyn is at a place called Brooklyn Zoo? Let me try and describe the scene: There&amp;#039;s a trampoline, several ladders to climb, a beach ball, hula-hoops, coffee, and cereal bars. Basically it&amp;#039;s a playground for adults. 300 of them, to be exact. I take off my shoes, sign a waiver indicating that it&amp;#039;s fine if I injure myself, and make a beeline for the trampoline, where I proceed to jump and fall to the sounds of house music. I manage to dance with a shirtless man in Guatemalan pants and a man bun; I do a headstand in a corner; I have to remind myself that I am sober, and that it is 9 a.m.  Photo: Morning Gloryville  I love Morning Gloryville for exactly half an hour, until the DJ&amp;#039;s positivity chants and the girls wearing angel wings (yes, there was more than one) start to get on my nerves. According to testimonials on the movement&amp;#039;s Facebook page, some participants get a real charge from the activity: &amp;quot;I was literally buzzing when I walked home. Still feeling high. Who needs drugs when you have Morning Glory!&amp;quot; wrote one happy customer. &amp;quot;How is it possible to be so damn happy before 7am on a Wednesday morning?&amp;quot; wrote another. What does it say about me that I proceeded to take a car home and take a nap? "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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