Hot Yoga and the Perils of Sweating with Strangers

In preparation for my upcoming knee surgery, which will leave me in an immobilizer for about 6 weeks, I have committed to 30 days of Bikram Yoga in the hopes that it will cleanse my body and potentially shrink it a bit as well. The following is an accurate account of how this journey began.

Yoga mat, large bath towel, and Klean Kantine bottle of water in hand, I entered the yoga studio in my black Lululemon capri length spandex pants and matching top. I decided against the large Lulu headband for fear it would look like I was trying a little too hard, but immediately regretted this decision as I sized up the crowd.

I approached the desk and Carli (with an "i"), the helpful assistant, talked me into a 30 days for $40 unlimited package. Afterall, I reasoned, it should take me at least 4 weeks to become proficient in this style of yoga, and with the 30 day package you get a yoga studio key fob that I immediately attached to my key chain with a small thrill. Carli then motioned for me to walk to the left into the Bikram studio. I made my way through the first set of glass doors and could abruptly feel the humid heat. I removed my flip flops and placed them in one of the small wooden cubbies lining the walls of this Bikram anti-chamber. I then trepidatiously pushed open the second set of glass doors and stepped into the sticky jungle/rainforest-like atmoshphere of the dimly lit studio. The polished dark hardwood floor was lined with 3 rows of scantily clad people sitting on yoga mats in various stages of stretching; those nearest the front were the bendiest and had mats lined with special thin yoga towels. Those in the second row were decidedly less bendy and would have done well with a more modest clothing approach and the back row, well suffice it to say, I was underwhelmed. I did notice to my slight consternation that the mats in the back row were largely covered in fluffy bath towels similar to the incriminating red one in my arms. Note to self, buy cool thin yoga towel (preferably in earth tone) asap.

I found an empty spot in the middle row and rolled out my mat and towel, adjusting my position so that I could spy a sliver of myself in the front floor-to-ceiling mirror. Just above the mirrors I saw a large cylindrical vent pipe (maybe 18' in diameter) that ran the entire length of the studio ceiling, and seemed to be covered with some kind of hole-punched ballistic nylon fabric. I would soon figure out that this cylinder is the heating vent that ensures the room remains at 105 degrees Fahrenheit through out the class. When I figure this out, I will also realize that newbie yoginis (even the very fit kind) therefore would be well advised to place their mats as far away from said cylinder as possible. But alas, I jump too far ahead.

I did a few deep knee bends and breathed in as deeply as possible, secretly trying to see if a B.O. smell could be detected in the room. Fortunately all I could smell was the patchouli scent emanating from the female Asian yoga master in front of me with the unconventionally long braided pigs tails practicing full back bends. A clear attempt at yoga intimidation, but wasted on someone of my mental mettle. It would take more than a back bend from a 40-something Pipi Longstocking wannabe to rattle this gals cage. The instructor appeared, a woman of about 30 years of age with the kind of lithe toned body I pictured on myself by the end of the month.

Her voice was reminiscent of a female James Lipton, and she pronounced each word with an exaggerated pomp only achieved by years of dedicated practice, often lowering her tone and emphasizing the last syllable of certain words for added drama. "Thank you for giving yourselves the gift of today's practice. I'd like to encourage each and every one of you to focus your intention today on creativity,. I'd like to challenge you to consider how you can use your life force more creatively to add beauty and meaning to everything that you do and with everyone whom you interact. Ask yourself, how might this lifetime be different if you let your creativity flow unedited, unjudged. How might this lifetime be more meaningful? How might you feel more complete? We begin as always with the Pranayama Fire Breathing Posture, so please come to standing in tadassana (mountain pose) in the center of your mats.

"Are there any new students here today?" she asked. I reluctantly raised my hand, outing myself against my better judgment. "Welcome. Your goal today is to simply remain in the room for the full 90 minutes and try to explore the 26 postures to the best of your ability. It would be somewhat of an understatement to say that I was offended. My goal is to just stay in the room, paleeeeeeeeaaase.

Over the course of the next 90 minutes her voice went from mildly annoying to severely grating and I used my creativity to imagine what it would be like if she suddenly lost her voice.

The Fire Breathing is I believe so-named because of the burning sensation one feels in their nostrils and chest when deeply inhaling in the sweltering heat of the room. Things went from hot to hotter and by the third posture I reached for my water bottle in dire need of hydration. "Just 2 more postures before we stop for a water break, so try to hang on if that is available to you." At that point the only thing "available to me" was fainting, and so I gulped down my contraband liquid and quickly resumed my feeble attempt at the Half Moon Pose. Throughout the class I was intermittently overcome with dizziness and gave in to my thirst as well as the occasional need to rest in Child's Pose.

After 15 minutes, I glanced down at my towel and was amazed by the sweat that was dropping like rain off of my body onto it. I had a somewhat macho feeling about this phenomenon and used my creativity to imagine myself in a flashback of Flashdance as I struggled into triggenasana/Triangle Pose.

Pose after burning pose, I willed my way through the class, eyeing the door and my means of escape when I felt I could go on no longer. But Patchouli Pipi was bending and flexing in all her glory, and I would be damned if I was going to give up without a fight. About half way through the class, I heard the instructor walk past me and say aloud, "Nice adjustment in the black." I realized that she was speaking about me, that I was the adjuster in black, the nice adjuster in the black who had just been publicly praised. I very nearly blushed but given that I was already beet red from the heat, I highly doubt this was at all visible. I must be a natural I thought. And this realization gave me the energy to carry on until the very end of the class.

When finally lying in a pool of my own hot sweat in Final Chivassana (Corpse Pose) I relaxed, I had made it. The instructor congratulated me aloud for having remained in the room for the full 90 minutes and the class broke into applause, even Pipi was graciously clapping for me. I was moved. And so along with my fellow yoginis, and at the prompting of our instructore, I gave sincere thanks to the Universe and to myself in gratitude for all that is and in gratitude for all that can be, Namaste.