Bikram Yog-uuugh!

Lately, I haven't done much working out, Ive been really stressed, and I have more knots in my body than a boy scout's practice rope, so I decide to take some yoga classes. I google the nearest studio and the only one that comes up is for Bikram Yoga, aka Hot Yoga, aka being in a room heated to 105°F (41°C) and 40% humidity. But I don't know all those details when I go to the torture chamber.

What I really want is a standard yoga class, not a hot one. I haven't practiced yoga regularly, but remember taking a few classes here and there and just being very relaxed afterwards. That's the feeling I want now. And I want those pesky knots to go away. Alas, I have no choice but to go to Bikram, bc I'm not traveling more than a few blocks for class, so it's that or nothing.

I make my way to the studio, and as soon as I find the entrance and peer up the stairs, I am accosted by the stench of incense that comes charging down at me. I'm already not looking forward to this, and the incense is the perfect, legitimate reason to go home, as it instantaneously gives me migraines. But I decide to woman up. It takes everything in me to suck it up and trudge up the stairs, but I do it. I get upstairs n it's not only smelly (incense and candles smelly, not sweaty smelly, oddly enough) but it's also really hot. Kinda like what 105° would feel like. Add that heat to the soaring temperatures of the 2nd heat wave of the summer that's going on outside, and we've got ourselves quite the combination.

A friendly lady talking to her coworker checks me in. She is dressed in a black athletic crop top and matching shorts, and she's sweating. Can't say I blame her. I am easily coerced into signing up for the intro week which is a 7-day unlimited pass; makes sense to buy since it only costs $20 ($2 more than a single class). The free towels they throw in for intro week don't hurt, either, as I'm soon to learn I'm really gonna need them. Angela - crop top chick - tells me I'm all set and sends me off with "OK, your goal for today is to stay inside the class". That's an odd and very small goal, I think to myself.

We all go to the heated room and wait for the instructor, who turns out to be Angela. Seeing her standing up, her body is to die for. Is Bikram how she got that body?? Sign me up for a yearly membership please! I'm taken away by thoughts of how much awesomer (yes, I make up words from time to time, and I just made that one up) my own body's gonna look in a month when my fantasies are interrupted by Angela saying something about "90 minutes" as she's closing all the windows, and then the door. It's pretty toasty in no time.

I'd like to say I whizzed through the class with flying colors. I'd like to say the heat didn't bother me, I knew all the poses, I didn't even need a sip of water, and I want to go back every day. The fact of the matter is, 5 minutes in, I am dying. I can't breathe, it's so damn hot in there its like the Sahara, and the air is ridiculously heavy with the recycled breath and sweat of 20 other people. There's this one chick in the front row (of course) who knows all the poses and then some, and I spend much of the class hating her.

Who exactly thought this hot yoga was a good idea? That would be one Bikram Choudhury. And which idiot thought they should partake in this in the middle of a NY heat wave?? That, my dears, would be me.