102 degrees fahrenheit
65 percent humidity
90 minutes
26 different contortions
A room full of masochists
$15 for the privilege of being there
It might, at first read, sound like something your wholesome family values would not want to know anything about. It's actually an increasingly popular form of exercise. Or punishment. Or insanity. Or pick your own descriptive word.
It's Bikram Yoga, also known familiarly as "hot yoga." It is described on our local yoga studio's website like this:
This is my 7th day in a row going to class. I had been going last year, enough that I invested a wad of dough into a 30-session pass. Then my interest waned along with my bum knee, and I quit going. Then about a month ago, I realized that if I didn't use the rest of my sessions on my pass by August 12, they'd expire. I started back last week, and I had 19 to go. So I'm nuts AND I'm thrifty. I don't want to lose money on this punishment.
It's actually very rejuvenating. It's also frustrating when you realize your body at 33 won't move the way it once did. I cannot balance on one leg. It's really impossible. Yesterday I pulled a lower abdominal muscle, so every time I breathe deeply, a sharp pain pierces through my middle. And occasionally I drift in and out of consiousness with the heat. I can only imagine what menopause might be like someday. Hot flash hell.
I know someone who actually went to class two sessions in a row for two days. Four classes (that's 6 hours of sweating and twisting and balancing and bending in half) in a 48 hour period. I'm sure it's a record. The men with the white coats are looking for you, Mark. There's a nice padded room waiting...
I'm making it out to be something hideous; it isn't. It's amazing. Those people who can devote many hours a week to the practice are so focused and balanced, calm and yet energized. They also look incredibly fit, with their tiny waists, their washboard abs, their sculpted biceps and quadriceps and hamstrings. Then there are us regular people who manage to drag ourselves to the gym the minimum three times a week, whining all the way and cursing the fact we weren't born with supermodel bodies or superathlete stamina.
And so tomorrow, it's on to day 8 of my quest to use my session pass (which is nonrefundable and nontransferable, just so you know). Dandayamana janushirasana (standing head to knee pose), here I come.
Namasté!
65 percent humidity
90 minutes
26 different contortions
A room full of masochists
$15 for the privilege of being there
It might, at first read, sound like something your wholesome family values would not want to know anything about. It's actually an increasingly popular form of exercise. Or punishment. Or insanity. Or pick your own descriptive word.
It's Bikram Yoga, also known familiarly as "hot yoga." It is described on our local yoga studio's website like this:
...A hatha yoga based system designed to stretch, strengthen and rejuvenate the entire body, and reduce stress and tension. This 90-minute class consists of a series of asanas (postures) and pranayamas (breathing exercises) practiced in a heated room. The purpose of the heat is to promote cellular metabolism, detoxification and suppleness of the muscular system. This magic formula combined with a regular practice brings rapid improvement in body shape, fitness, overall health and mental well-being.
This is my 7th day in a row going to class. I had been going last year, enough that I invested a wad of dough into a 30-session pass. Then my interest waned along with my bum knee, and I quit going. Then about a month ago, I realized that if I didn't use the rest of my sessions on my pass by August 12, they'd expire. I started back last week, and I had 19 to go. So I'm nuts AND I'm thrifty. I don't want to lose money on this punishment.
It's actually very rejuvenating. It's also frustrating when you realize your body at 33 won't move the way it once did. I cannot balance on one leg. It's really impossible. Yesterday I pulled a lower abdominal muscle, so every time I breathe deeply, a sharp pain pierces through my middle. And occasionally I drift in and out of consiousness with the heat. I can only imagine what menopause might be like someday. Hot flash hell.
I know someone who actually went to class two sessions in a row for two days. Four classes (that's 6 hours of sweating and twisting and balancing and bending in half) in a 48 hour period. I'm sure it's a record. The men with the white coats are looking for you, Mark. There's a nice padded room waiting...
I'm making it out to be something hideous; it isn't. It's amazing. Those people who can devote many hours a week to the practice are so focused and balanced, calm and yet energized. They also look incredibly fit, with their tiny waists, their washboard abs, their sculpted biceps and quadriceps and hamstrings. Then there are us regular people who manage to drag ourselves to the gym the minimum three times a week, whining all the way and cursing the fact we weren't born with supermodel bodies or superathlete stamina.
And so tomorrow, it's on to day 8 of my quest to use my session pass (which is nonrefundable and nontransferable, just so you know). Dandayamana janushirasana (standing head to knee pose), here I come.
Namasté!
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