In a big gymnasium with exercise equipment tucked at both ends, two dozen women lie on yoga mats arranged in a circle.

Beneath each one's back is a rolled blanket that provides a gentle stretch - a posture intended to open the heart.

It could be a scene from your life or from the life of many of the women you know. But there's one big difference between this yoga workshop and most others: This one is happening behind two locked gates and three locked doors, in the Washington Corrections Center for Women.

Inside the gym, the women wear gray sweatpants and gray T-shirts, not sassy yoga clothes. The blankets are thin cotton ones borrowed from household supplies. A chatty police officer can observe the class through a window.

And yet, yoga in a prison is still yoga.

"I've seen so many movies about how hard prison life is," says Kate Greene of Olympia, who taught the workshop earlier this month. "And here are all these glowing, beautiful women smiling at me. And I wonder: What has happened there? Is there violence there?"

The answer is yes. Rates of violence at the center are higher than at any of the major men's prisons in the state.

In the yoga workshop - attended by prisoners who have earned the privilege - that statistic seems very far away.

The women, joined by Recreation Director Lynne Newark, lie down together and close their eyes, letting go of the outer world to focus on body and breath.

"Once I'm in the room with those women and we close the door and we can't see the police officers, it feels like any other class," says Meg O'Leary of Olympia, who organized the workshop and has been teaching yoga at the prison every week since August 2009.

O'Leary is a volunteer at the center. She works a full-time job, is married and teaches a weekly class at the Yoga Loft in Olympia.

And every Tuesday night, she drives 40 miles to the prison just outside Purdy, puts her belongings in a locker, goes through a metal detector and those five locked doors and teaches a core group of eight or nine prisoners - ranging from those in minimum security to at least one serving a life sentence.

"Yoga has been such a consistent thread through my life for the last 10 years, since I started practicing it," O'Leary says. "Being able to connect with what I really need and want, my relationships have improved, and my self-confidence has improved. It's brought so much to my life."

And that's what she wanted to share.

"The practice of yoga offers the sense of strength that comes from within," she says. "It doesn't come from another person or another thing. It comes from yourself, and that's really powerful."

O'Leary's is one of two weekly yoga classes at the prison. The other is sponsored by Seattle's Yoga Behind Bars and taught by a rotating faculty.

In May, O'Leary began organizing an ongoing series of Sunday workshops at the prison, including the one Greene taught on June 19. The workshops, held in the main gym, can accommodate more women - up to 30 - and expose them to different teachers and different styles of yoga.

Newark has seen changes in the women who participate in yoga or in meditation, also taught by volunteers.

"When they come out of class, they are more relaxed," she said. "You have an offender who normally might be more high-strung or confrontational and you notice that personality shift with her.

"The research is there," she adds. "They've done research on yoga and meditation in prisons all over the world."

Because nothing else is happening in the gym during Greene's workshop, Newark is able to participate, peacefully practicing yoga alongside the women she works with.

As the women relax into restorative poses, Greene speaks of yoga's benefits: "Whatever you learn on your yoga mat, you can take it into your life. If you can let go of that tight shoulder in the pose, you can start to learn to let go of that in your day. Then you can let go of something else, like a story you have about your life."

These women surely have a lot to let go of - the circumstances and behaviors that brought them to prison, society's definition of them and even simply the stresses of life in a huge institution.

"Everything in prison is about standing in lines," says Jeannette Murphy, who's been living behind the gates of the center for 28 years. "There are lines for the shower. There are lines for the mail. I used to sometimes not go to the kitchen because the lines were so long."

Now, she's learned to remain calm - just focusing on her breath or going through a yoga practice in her mind.

"Your body is in prison - maybe not your mind," she says.

Murphy, a thoughtful woman with a bright, ready smile, is serving a life sentence with the possibility of parole. Meanwhile, she works as a recreation clerk, is well on her way to a bachelor's degree through the Evergreen State College and is an active volunteer in the prison, working on reducing violence, creating a recycling program and helping to create organic gardens.

And she does yoga. "Tuesday night is literally the highlight of everything," she says. "That's when Meg comes."

Engre Brown, who's served three years of a 12-year sentence for vehicular homicide, agrees.

"It's something to look forward to - something uplifting and relaxing and grounding and positive to do," says Brown, who looks like the college student next door. "It's quiet and peaceful."

She grew up doing yoga, so it's a bit of the familiar in a life that has otherwise changed radically.

"During the day here, you never have privacy or quiet," she says. "You're surrounded by hundreds of women all the time. To have those moments doing quiet exercise or relaxation or meditation is so nice. It's so grounding.

"It gives you that strength to not lose it."