Week 1, Day 5

Ok. I admit it. I skipped yoga.

I had a pretty intense revelation yesterday. I mentioned to someone that I was doing hot yoga, as you do (constantly) when you’ve started something new and impressive in order to get the validation that makes all the pain of doing it worthwhile, and when she responded with the typical “How are you liking it,” I impulsively answered “I hate it.” And that was that. It’s official. I muffing hate hot yoga.

Alright. It’s good exercise, and I’ll admit that after some exposure to it I buy some of the benefits on the grocery list (still not sure how it’s supposed to cure Lyme Disease). But the heat, the sweat, breathing in other people’s odors, the vague feeling of impending cardiac arrest, it’s all just too much! If there is inner peace to be found through this, surely I can find that same peace sitting still in an Eucalyptus steam room (and I’m not talking Steamworks here) (Or am I?).
I’m going to give it another shot, for sure. Maybe even head back for the sheer cardio exercise of it. But for finding whatever it is that I’m on a mission to find? Helllls no.
You know what they say… If you can’t take the heat, quit hot yoga.

Week 1- Hot Yoga day 2

I must be a glutton for punishment.

After finishing my last post with a sassy, snappy statement- “perhaps Bikram isn’t such a hot idea for me,”- I once again awoke at dawn (read 8:45), packed my bag, and was on my way.

The instructor had a look of dread on her face as I walked through the door. She’d deny it, but I saw it. Another class of grunting, eye-rolling, and under-the-breath swearing, coming right up!

I changed amidst the many men, some of the same, some new, all toned and lovely. It saddened me that in a matter of minutes I would be a hot sweaty mess in a room full of gorgeous people, but in pain rather than pleasure. I couldn’t help but wonder why I came back. No. I know why I came back. I’m looking for that inner peace, goddammit! And I’m sure it doesn’t come easy. First pain, then pleasure. I learned that on my Prom night.

So I went in the hot room and got to work. Breathing. Painful breathing. Stretching. Excruciating stretching. Balancing. Kicking. Reaching. Sitting. Sweating sweating sweating sweating sweating. At first my mind raced into panic mode. What am I doing?! I can’t breathe! My hearts POUNDING! I need some water! I’M DYING. I’ve always been a rather dramatic person. But as I continued to stretch and die, something came over me. I stared into myself in the mirror and focused. My peripheral vision got kind of dark, like those cheesy black-diffused wedding photos. At first I recognized the feelings from when we used to lean over and take deep breaths then stand up really quickly and get choked until we pass out at summer camp, and I thought I was going to faint (I really hope someone else played that game…)! But then, as I kept staring, I realized that this was just focus. Meditation. Stillness. And as the perky LuLu-clad masochist instructor barked and clapped, I found a moment of strength in Standing Bow.

Of course, I quickly tipped over my toes and stumbled out, knocking into the older lady next to me who in turn gave me a look that would make a drag queen feel bad. But for a moment I had seen the light. A little bit of it, anyways. A glimmer of what all the Bikram hype is about.

The rest of the class was pure hell. After my revelation, I couldn’t seem to get my breath back. I counted the minutes until it was over. No cheeseburger smell to report. More like spinach today. At least that’s organic.

I’m going back tomorrow. I figure if I can achieve a calm moment in two classes, class three should have me on my way to utopia.

Week 1- Defendor

Went and saw Defendor tonight. Reminded me that I never did fulfill that dream of becoming a superhero. So much for escapism.

Week 1- It’s Getting Hot In Here (too obvious?)

“Why do I smell like a cheeseburger?” This was just one of many profound questions blooming in my brain as I lay on my sweat-soaked towel in the final minutes of my first Bikram or “hot” yoga class. And hot it was. I imagined that this was what purgatory would feel like. Only in place of little red men with horns and pitchforks, hot yoga features young, flexible torturers clad in Lulu Lemon. And they’re perky.

This week, I decided to give Bikram yoga a go! For those of you not in the know, Bikram yoga is a practice popularized in the 1970s. Consisting of 25 postures and held in rooms set at a minimum of 40.5 degrees Celcius, Bikram yoga is meant to relieve stress, enhance strength and flexibility, and provide benefits in all areas of general well-being. The grocery list of alleged physical benefits is baffling, including but not limited to: Cardiovascular, hearing, digestion, nervous system, skeletal system, and even reproductive functions.

Wow.

With the website (www.bikramyoga.com) suggesting this practice would address everything from Anxiety Attacks to Weight Loss, I thought “All this from stretching in a sauna? I love saunas!” Plus the toned and topless men in booty shorts wouldn’t hurt, either. So I packed a bag with a swimsuit, a couple towels, and a bottle of water, grabbed my yoga mat and off I went!

After dropping trou in a small changing room with some hot-in-that-earthy-kind-of-way men, I entered the studio. The room was hot, but as I took the lead of the other yogi’s and lay on my back I thought “This isn’t so bad! I take baths that are hotter!” Granted the pain of that heat is generally numbed by a well-loved bottle of Pinot Grigio. Still, seemed bearable.

The exercise started with the Pranayama Series. Standing breathing. This was to get blood flowing and stretch out our lungs for better capacity. Who knew breathing could be painful? Now, I’ve always maintained that, like Veronica Lodge, I do not sweat, I glow. Well glowing I was in the course of this seemingly simple breathing exercise. And as we switched to sideways bends and toe touching, that glow turned to a sweat. And as we progressed to holding our leg behind our heads, winding our arms like twist-ties, and bending at angles that would make Sean Cody blush, I began to drip. No, not drip. GUSH. Finally, by the time we laid on our backs to start the floor series, 60 minutes into the exercise, I had progressed from a Zen, glowing yogi to a sweaty, messy bitch, hands shaking as I poured water into my mouth. And there was a half hour still to go!

The rest of the class passed by in a hot, heat-wave blur. I twisted my spine, I crammed my forehead to my knee, I Eagled, I Cameled, I Half-Tortoised, and I gave a new meaning to the name Awkward Pose. And 90 minutes later I found myself lying on my back on a drenched towel, riddled with questions. “What is that muscle and how do I massage it?” “I wonder if that hot guy will be showering after this.” And I really did smell strangely like cheeseburgers.

I don’t know if I will return to Bikram. While there were definitely miserable parts, I did feel strangely exhilarated for the rest of the day. And once the stabbing muscle pain subsided, I felt more limber, even after just one class. Still, after all that sweat and pain, I have to think that perhaps Bikram isn’t such a hot idea for me.

About this blog

I’m a mess. I’ve decided it’s time to clean myself up. In the interest of being proactive, I have set out to attempt “those things.” You know “those things?” That pottery class that has created artistic fulfillment in your friend Carla? Or the dance therapy that has built a bridge between Jason and his mother? The speed-walking group that allowed Dale the emotional freedom to try internet dating which gave him the confidence to take a break from dating which inspired him to try meditating which led him to personal happiness? Well until now I’ve been “that guy” who sits back and lets “those things” be enjoyed by others as I go about my mid-quarter-life crisis. But no more. This blog will detail my weekly experiments with different activities which may or may not lead me towards that sense of well-being that has been missing since passing my quarter-century milestone.

Here we go!