hot yoga

Adventures in hot yoga

Several months ago, one of my friends asked me if I’d like to try hot yoga with her. I said yes because I was seriously bored with my current workout routine, but in the back of my mind I was secretly thinking that hot yoga sounded a little strange and I wasn’t quite sure what I had agreed to.

“Isn’t yoga kind of new age-y?”

“I don’t think I’m the yoga type.”

“If I do yoga, am I going to turn into a hipster?”

“Just do it, Kristy. You need a new workout.”

And then my first day of yoga went like this:

5:55 p.m. – I walk into a blazing hot room, grab a yoga mat, a block, and a towel, and sit down in front of a humidifier. I immediately start to sweat.

6:00 p.m. – Class– or to be politically correct, I should say the practice– begins. We come into child’s pose.

6:01 p.m. – “This is nice,” I’m thinking. I mean, I’m sweating profusely, yes, but laying face-down on a mat and breathing slowly is kind of relaxing.

6:05 p.m. – We’re doing sun salutations, or something like that, and I’m pretty sure I can’t sweat anymore.

6:12 p.m. – Just kidding, I can sweat more. I literally watch sweat beads come out of my legs and roll down my shin bones. I don’t think I’ve ever seen sweat come out of my legs in my entire life. I’m slightly concerned.

6:30 p.m. – I’ve fallen over about 20 times by now. Evidently I don’t have the perfect balance gene that everybody else in the room seems to have. Why am I so wobbly? Why does everybody else look so graceful?

6:34 p.m. – We’re in dancer’s pose and sweat is rapidly dripping from my outstretched elbow and creating a nice little puddle on my stinky yoga mat.

6:35 p.m. – I slip on the sweat puddle. Fall down count increases to 21.

6:50 p.m. – “How much water is left in my body? Can’t be much anymore. How in the world is it possible to sweat so much? My clothes are soaked and I’m going to shrivel up into a prune any second now.”

7:00 p.m. – We “come down” and I’m ecstatic because I think it’s over. If I could jump for joy, I would. But I feel half-dead at this point, so I stay face-down on my soaking, slippery, staaaanky mat.

7:01 p.m. – Psych! It’s not over! Now we’re doing abs.

7:05 p.m. – The only thing keeping me going right now is my inherent, and slightly insane, drive to conquer a challenge. My body is screaming, but I don’t quit. I must defeat the beast.

7:10 p.m. – Corpse pose. It sounds horrendous, but right now those are the most wonderful words on the planet. Corpse pose means it’s over for real.

7:15 p.m. – We roll out of corpse pose and into a fetal position. Several drops of sweat roll down into my ear and muffle my sense of hearing. I would be grossed out but I’m too exhausted to care about anything at this point. And that includes my mascara-smeared raccoon eyes and my dangerously frizzy hair. “I look hotter than Beyonce right now,” I tell myself. Denial is bliss.

7:20 p.m. – We’ve bowed and said “namaste” and people are getting up and walking out the door. I can’t get up.

Eventually I made it home and fell into bed and woke up feeling surprisingly not sore the next morning. As much as that first day killed me, I recall the exercises and the poses almost fondly. “Wait, am I smiling?”

Evidently I took a liking to hot yoga for some reason and I’ve been to almost every class since. I’d even go so far as to say that yoga days are some of the best days of my week now.

Yes, I’m crazy. I know.

What about you? Have y’all every tried any kind of crazy exercise?

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