10/10: I Think I Sweated A Person
So today was another adventure in the pursuit of strength and fitness. I decided to go to a bikram yoga class, where you do the yoga stretch stuff in a room that could double as a convection oven. We’re told it’s 105 degrees, but near the end it felt like 230- a fine temperature for smoking meat.
I thought I was prepared with my one 1L bottle of water, one towel, and one change of clothes. Yeah, not so much. First thing is they make you take your shoes off when walking in, and for whatever reason I took my socks off too. So then I’m basically herded into the men’s changing room, in bare feet. I just wanted to throw up walking around on wet carpet and tile with nothing to protect myself from the inevitable foot disease. Next time I’m taking flip flops or leaving my socks on and if they have a problem I’ll grab the fruity little instructor by his mop top and tell him twice that homey don’t play dat.
So I grab the a rental mat and water and head into The Oven. There’s one human pretzel in there from the last class, who obviously felt 90 minutes wasn’t enough time, doing some crazy shit that would earn him huge tips if he were a woman and a stripper. So I put my stuff down and one older woman whispers “is it your first time here?” When I said yeah she grabbed my mat and relocated me right next to the door. When I told her thanks in my regular indoor voice she whispered again “you’re not supposed to talk in here.” Yeah this place is gonna be like a second home.
I notice everyone else has their towel laid on their mat so I went and got mine out of the foot fungus room and did the same. I thought the towel was for drying off afterwards, but I quickly find out how useless the towel will be for that purpose. Once I’m finally settled in I see everybody coming in and just laying down. I’m asking myself if these people are preparing for war or something. For my first time, I wasn’t far off in that assumption.
Ok, in walks Richard Simmons Jr. (not really, but could pass for it) in just his boy shorts to begin the class. How this guy isn’t gay I have no idea. He’s got the walk, the talk, the mannerisms, everything. But he also has a smokin’ hot wife who also teaches classes. Like Ron Burgandy looking at Baxter “I’m not even mad. That’s amazing.” But I digress.
We start with some breathing exercises while standing and flapping our arms like wings, but slowly while also trying to bend backwards. I can already tell the backwards bending is going to be a problem. After about 20 to 100 reps (or somewhere in between) we’re finally warmed up, which also means I’m alread completely soaked through my shorts. Now it’s time for the poses.
We did the tree, the eagle, and a bunch of other poses whose names I replaced with “fuck”, “shit”, “cunt”, and whatever colorful metaphor I could conjure up in my wilting brain. The heat is total crusher. My water was gone in about 20 minutes and had to ask the trainer/ bar steward for another out of the cooler. I held my own pretty well, but near the end of the class I had to sit out a couple poses due to the heat and my chronically tight hips screaming “no mas!”. After 90 minutes the instructor says “ok, just relax lying on your back”. That pose is called “the dead man” pose but I’m renaming it the zombie pose because while I was dead, I couldn’t lay still like we were supposed to.
I manage to gather my stuff, including my now 10 pound towel, and head back to the changing area. Since my only towel is now useless as anything but a boat anchor I have to use a spare shirt as a towel. Awesome. Once I got outside I think I sat in my car for about ten minutes before realizing that no one is going to show up to drive me home.
Even with the faint hint of a cult in the air such as loud breathing in unison and a chant or two, I think I’m going to go back at least once a week for the time being. My hips need all the help they can get and I think the heat and group setting forcing me to stretch will be beneficial. So get ready to see an entry once a week or so with nothing but “yoga” written.
