Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Hot what?

Roommate and I visited the third ring of Hell today. I don't recommend it.

All right. We weren't actually in Hell, per se. We were in a hot yoga class. At 0600. That's right. Six freaking AM.

Hot yoga is exactly what it sounds like. It's yoga. And it' Fires-of-hell hot. Dear-God-kill-me-now hot. And they do it this way on purpose. Because, you know, yoga isn't freaking hard enough. Pfft.

The room is heated to a cozy 105 degrees Fahrenheit. To make it more enjoyable for every one, this room also has a humidity level of 40-60%. On purpose!!! At one point, a delicate waft of slightly cooler air brushed against my arm. I felt myself go deeply still, to feel it again, to encourage it to return. It took me quite a while to figure out that it was the cooler stream of air Roommate was breathing out, as she deepened her breathing.

Cooler. The breath from inside her lungs was cooler than the room. Gah!

I have been told many things about this deliberate flameless bonfire, reasons for this version of the Pit. One: it's supposed to mimic the conditions in India, where yoga was invented.

[Note to self: Google this later. See if it's actually crap.]

Two: the heat and humidity are supposed to facilitate the stretching by gently warming the muscles.

That's right. "Gently." Uh huh.

Three: the heat and humidity increase perspiration [No! Really? I am stunned.] which helps the body rid itself of toxins.

Because I am apparently the human equivalent of a toxic waste dump. The toxins must be burned out of me. You know, I bet the Puritans would have loved this crap. Other than the skimpy clothing and awareness of the body stuff.

Purge with the fires of Hell! Burn out the sins!!!

--Random Puritan Minister

Puritans were such party animals.

But back to my visit to Perdition. I don't know if any of the above "reasoning" is correct. I don't know if I actually burned 400-1200 calories during today's session. I do know that Roommate and I signed up for the trial offer of 10 classes for $10. Considering a single class costs $18, this is quite the bargain. Almost too good to be true, in fact.

Which brings us to Today's Cliche!

When something seems too good to be true, it usually is.

Allow me to reassure you, dear invisible one, that despite the crack-dealing aspect of the bargain trial offer, nothing about this experience makes me want to race back to the yoga studio, AKA Fires of Hades, shrieking with delight and anticipation. I can think of it only with fear. Trepidation. A teensy bit of nausea. A nagging headache.

Now, why did my mother just pop into my head?

Anyway. They don't have clocks in the studio itself, so I have no idea how long I actually lasted before I dissolved onto my mat like a huge melted flesh-toned marshmallow. I only know that if I had spotted two gigantic graham crackers and a mammoth piece of chocolate, I would have felt right at home. I attempted twice to return to doing the poses. I lasted...oh...a solid fifteen seconds. The last time I flopped to the floor, onto my sweat-soaked towel-covered mat, I was done. When the instructor passed by Roommate [who, despite doing far better than I on this visit to The Dark Place, was also prone, sweat-soaked and gasping on the mat next to mine] and me and said to us, "You can just stay like this for the rest of the class."

Really, Demon Girl? Thanks. Super of you to say so. 'Cause I was this close to leaping to my feet to continue.

Class ended. Roommate and I staggered to the door and the sweet coolness of a rainy Pacific Northwest morning. We had 55 minutes for me to get home, get showered and dressed and get to work. I made it. On time.

But it wasn't pretty.

No, I do not know what I was thinking.

Yes, I am blaming Roommate.

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