Last night, one of my friends (friend A) asked me if I wanted to try a 7AM hot yoga class. I should have told her no, and to lose my number. But I do like her and I’m insane, so I agreed.
When 6:35 arrived, I had a critical choice to make. Do you really wear yoga pants to yoga class? At this point I wasn’t sure if yoga pants were just created to make your ass look good or if they were actually worn to exercise. After deciding in my head that the pants deserved yoga, I could not find them–so I settled for shorts.
When I arrived at the hot yoga place I found friend A and friend B. I was really tempted to ask them if they wanted to go down the street and get donuts instead of taking this class, but my self-control kicked in and I decided to go through with it.
My first warning sign was when they asked me to sign a waver. I should have known then to run as fast as my thick legs could carry me, but then again my self-control kicked in and I was mentally berating myself for the moment of weakness. Besides, the ladies at the front desk looked so happy to be there, so surely they couldn’t be sending me to my death. Of course they were all 100 pound, morning people, who have never eaten anything with more calories than celery, but I did not take that into consideration when I decided to stay.
After I signed the waver the woman asked me if I had a towel because “You will sweat more than you think you will.” That was the understatement of the century, but friend B ever so kindly paid the $2 for me to borrow the towel that later on would look like I drowned it in a bucket of my tears.
The second warning sign was when the door said, “No talking in the yoga room.” After all, if you let the people communicate then they can revolt right? Right next to the “No talking sign” is the “Sweat is Fat Crying” sign. I later discovered that it is impossible to cry during the class because all of the water is being sucked out of your body through every surface.
When I entered the room, there were already people laying down, breathing deeply. It appeared to be so peaceful, I was convincing myself that it could not be that bad. I failed to notice that all the peaceful looking people were the size of trinket poodles, and have probably done yoga before.
When the instructor closed the door. I realized that I was officially in a dim lit, soft music, quiet, HELL. Quickly the temperature climbed up to 100-101-102-103-104-105 DEGREES!! It was so hot that the mirrors were fogging and my brain stopped functioning. I’m pretty sure I lost some brain cells in that room this morning.
After 20 minutes of stretching, I had realized just how big of a mistake I had made. Sweat was DRIPPING from everywhere. At one point in time I contemplated taking off my shirt and ringing it out. After all, our instructor was already sliding around the room from all the sweat on the floor, so what could it hurt?
About 30 minutes in, our instructor decided to punish us for the sins of the world, and demanded we fold our bodies into positions only seen in origami magazines. I was trying to check the time to see how long the torture would last, and then remembered that there were no clocks and we could not bring our cell phones in. Now, I’m feeling like a prisoner, surrounded by deeply breathing, skinny, slick with perspiration, origami people.
At this point, 45 minutes in, I decide to just lay my head on the mat. I think at this point I blacked out for a few minutes. All the positions she was making us do were not humanly possible, and I was glaring at the overachievers in the room who had no bones at all, and could fold themselves into such positions.
After an hour of the torture, I said a quick prayer. God please don’t let me pass out now. If I did pass out they might just think I was in child’s pose, and leave me there until the next class.
After an hour and fifteen minutes, I created a new pose called the “wounded warrior” which involves holding my hands above my head silently saying “Mufasa” while praying for forgiveness. The torture did not last long after this.
One hour and twenty minutes in, the origami lady thanked us for coming and sprayed us all with this mint oil. Was the mint oil supposed to replenish the 50 gallons of water I lost? Was it supposed to make my body feel as if I had NOT been ran over by a truck? Or was it just an I’m-sorry-you-took-this-class-here’s-something-good-to-smell-since-now-you-all-stink-spray? I still don’t know.
When she opened the door, it was as if she ushered angels in. I crawled to the door with as much energy I could master, to seek refuge. I am now barely hanging on, I feel as if I ran a marathon (yeah, like I know what that feels like). The teacher was just smiling and looked as if she could do 5 more classes like this.
I have concluded that in order to be into hot yoga you have to be 1 of he following.
3. Glutton for Punishment
I am the fourth which is my I am going back tomorrow.