Hot Yoga and Why Sometimes it’s Embarrassing to be Me

4 01 2011

Today I had my first encounter with Hot Yoga. (I’m not going to call it “Bikram” in case the real Bikram comes out and kicks my butt with his flexible yogi legs. Look up Bikram if this statement confuses you.) My neighbor is an acquaintance of mine from high school and we struck up a conversation about yoga over Christmas. Turns out she’s a huge fan and also a member of the local elite fitness club. That same fitness club has hot yoga classes pretty much every day.

Last week I accordingly bought a yoga mat, (gray with white leaves- very fetch) and planned my hot yoga outfit. Tonight we piled ourselves, our water bottles and our yoga mats into my car and made our way to The Club.

I paid the perky front desk girl my sixteen dollars and Meghan (did I mention my friend from high school’s name is “Meghan”?) led the way to the class. We got there eight minutes early and it was already crowded but we found a spot center front and chatted. Turns out it was a neighborhood party- the local fitness couple had staked their claim near the window.

I’m not going to lie. The first couple of minutes in that room were INtense. It’s hot and crowded and you are about to attempt bendy feats of bendiness. I was saved by the low light and my frozen bottle of coconut water. I have a really hard time getting physically or mentally upset if the lights are at half or less. There was also the awe-struck-inducing sight of some lady standing on her head against the front wall.

The yoga itself went pretty smoothly. I was careful to take breaks if I needed them. Mostly I needed those breaks to wipe the sweat out of my eyeballs/off my nose/away from my ear canals. It’s a very sweaty endeavor. There weren’t any moves that I couldn’t do, though a few I wasn’t able to do for very long. My “tree” pose is beautiful but my “upward dog” is pretty lame.

My dog is lame. Ha.

The really bad thing about being me in a hot yoga setting is my combination of massive sweat and long hair. Occasionally my hair would flip forward or to the side and stick on some part of my body. I would then have a pause and un-stick myself before I could move my head to do the next move. I see french braids in my future.

The short story is that I survived with only one small wound. My strained glute muscle has decided to hurt in the worst way. It’s really bad. Which is the real reason it’s embarrassing to be me- you have to admit that you come home from yoga and sit on ice.

Yes, it’s not all wine and roses around here people. But we have a good time.

 

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