Laugh At Yourself

I discovered this morning that I have learned to laugh at myself, literally. This newfound ability, possessed by few, is sure to open limitless doors for me. For the past three days, I have set my alarm for 5:00 AM to simply give myself the option to attend 6:00 yoga. Yesterday, my brain heard the dreaded chime of the iPhone alarm and asked me if I was freakin’ kidding (literally, the terminology my brain used) and instructed my body to sleep until 7:45 instead.

I wasn’t going to take that rebellious attitude from my maniacal mind this morning- oh, no. I was done putting up with its lazy attitude and decided to get my butt in gear (is that a saying?). I jumped out of bed at 5:00, dressed for yoga, grabbed lunch for work and hit the beautiful, traffic-free road by 5:20. Leaving this early put my arrival time at the studio around 5:30, which is a bit too prompt to attempt to enter class. I also realized while driving by that it was still pitch-black inside- a good indicator that the instructor was still snoozing or en route.

The first thing I noticed when I parked in the garage was that my car had no vehicular company whatsoever. I assumed this was simply from being a good 30 minutes early and put my seat back and turned the radio up. After about 10 minutes, another car parked in the garage, I reckoned that was a good indication I could go inside. I greeted my fellow yogi with a nod and “good morning” and we walked to the studio, which still had a locked door and not a single light on.

He and I stood there, alone outside the studio, as an awkward silence descended upon us like an ominous storm cloud. Eventually, he caused the dissipation of the silence cloud by asking if the classes normally start this late. I shook my head no, and we began chatting about how we liked the studio, where we were from, blah, blah. At around 5:50, he expressed his concern that, perhaps, the instructor forgot to set his or her alarm. Then, it hit me.

“Oh man… I think Fridays are the one day when there isn’t a 6 AM class…” I announced, as my eyes widened to the size of shiny quarters in the horrific revelation that I had dragged my bum out of bed two hours earlier than necessary.

“No way!” he responded. “I swear I checked that!” and, as he looked at his phone, “oh, crap. You’re right.”

Instead of getting angry at realizing I lost hours I would never gain back, I bent over in crippling laughter, a fit that my comrade yogi immediately joined me in. We stood there, laughing at our own misfortunes for a good five or ten minutes. When we finally caught our breath, we departed, and I went for a run. The End.

Me this morning, minus the weird hat and makeup, and wearing a shirt

Yoga Torture Chamber- The Saga Continues

Just call me Patty Hearst. First I was tortured in the way-too-hot yoga chamber, then I was taken prisoner. I figured, you know what, after that first hellish experience at the Bikram studio for which I bought a Groupon, there is no way things can deteriorate any further. I certainly can't say that last night's class was worse than Tuesday's. The good thing about that scarring experience was that I had rockbottom expectations for last night. After I changed and stepped through the studio doors, my body did not automatically turn into a fountain of sweat- good sign number one. The teacher walked in and seemed substantially less like an evil dictator than the the one on Tuesday- good sign number two.

As class kicked off, I got through the first postures absolutely fine, and the instructor made a significant amount of small suggestions that really benefited the way I think about my alignment in postures. When she told us to hang our heads during our first backward bend, she said "pretend your head is a tomato on a vine." Nice visual. During triangle, she explained that when the instructors tell us to have our "thigh bicep" parallel to the floor, they mean the "bicep of our thigh," and I always thought they meant "thigh and bicep." Yes, lots of truly life-changing tips there.

So, around an hour and 20 minutes into the practice, I admit I just got bored. I wanted to go home and get ready for bed. So, I waited for a posture where everyone has their heads down so they would be less likely to notice me sneak out, grabbed my mat and towel and rushed towards the door. Of course, the teacher noticed and asked if I was okay, and I just said "yeah, fine," and stepped out. Well, just when I thought I was in the clear, the two people at the front desk, the evil instructor from Tuesday and some little twat who helped sign people in, called out and asked if I was okay. Not wanting to admit that I just got sick of being in a 90 minute yoga class that was clearly going to run overtime, I just mumbled "yeah, just a little light headed…" and rushed into the locker room. WELL, twat girl followed me in as I was grabbing my stuff to make a run for it and told me I needed to come out and sit down. I wanted to slap her in the face and run away.

I hesitantly complied and sat awkwardly on a bench in the lobby area while she brought me a cold towel for my forehead. I placed the towel on my forehead like a damsel in distress simply to humor them, but got increasingly annoyed as she began to make conversation with me.

"You know, we can't just have you wandering about feeling light-headed. Have you ever done hot yoga before?"

"Um…yeah for about two years. I guess the humidity just seemed high."

"Yeah, it has been for a few days. Well, are you ready to go in to finish class?"

I gave her my best "you've gotta be f***ing kidding me" face and said "um, no, I think I'm just going to head out."

"Actually, you need to sit for awhile."

So, feeling like a captive or a child in timeout, I sat and stared at the clock, watching the seconds tick by slower than molasses moves in winter. Finally, after about 5 minutes, I decided it was time for a prison break. I stood up and tried to sneak past my captors. I grabbed my stuff, and on the way out was stopped once again by evil dictator instructor from Tuesday.

"Um, can I make a suggestion?" Boy, I love questions that aren't questions.

"Sure."

"You were in my class Tuesday and left, right? Well, you need to try to go to an earlier class. And you need more electrolytes."

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I'll try that."

"I'd highly suggest it." He said, in a monotone.

I made my rush for the for the door and finally escaped, just as class came to an end anyhow. At least I didn't succumb to Stockholm Syndrome. I did learn from this experience, however, that I would not do well as a captive. If I went that stir crazy being forced to stay somewhere against my will for 10 minutes, imagine what days or weeks would do to me…

I'd say "I'm never going back there" but I still have 13 classes left on my Groupon. We will see what horrors I experience the next class on Tuesday….

Yoga Torture Chamber

As I jaunted joyfully to my first Bikram yoga class in many moons, I felt both excited and nervous, but also confident that I would feel amazing after a 90-minute detox in a hot and humid room. My mood worsened slightly from the way the front desk attendant treated me. After affirming her inquiry about whether I had a Groupon or LivingSocial deal or not, she asked me in a monotone drone if I read the fine print about sending my information to the studio in advance. I admitted that I hand't, and she scolded me about not reading the fine print. Seriously? I was there over 45 minutes in advance in order to provide adequate information-providing time. She then thrust a clipboard in front of my face and told me to fill it out, not even trying to mask her annoyance with my lack of fine-print reading.

As I filled out the form, an awkward silence descended upon us like an ominous storm cloud, and I quickly tried to ward it off by making conversation about their studio, etc. She wasn't having it. Note to self: not reading fine print really rubs people the wrong way. My mood still chalk-full of excitement, I left the desk as quickly as possible so she would stop lowering my happiness level.

The beet-red faces of the practitioners exiting the preceding class and the lady sitting on the floor beside the studio door should have been blaring warning signals of what was to come. Yet, naive as I was, I believed that after two years of never having a horrendous Bikram class, it was simply impossible for them to exist. No matter how much I struggle during the course, I always managed to push through and feel an incredible yoga-high afterwards.

I hadn't the slightest idea what I was about to get into. The moment I set foot into that studio, beads of sweat began rolling down my body. That's not supposed to happen until at least five minutes into class. This had me worried, yet by no means panicked. Then class began and things changed. I felt light-headed within the first ten minutes of class. Chalking it up to not being used to such extreme humidity after just moving from a dry climate, I swallowed my pride (almost choking on it) and took a seat on my mat. Yet, my heard rate never subsided from nearing one which would induce cardiac arrest. About 15 to 20 minutes in, a petite blonde from the other side of the room rushed out, her face flushed.

My skin's appearance upon entering the studio 

Another practitioner quickly followed, clutching an empty water bottle. As he passed the instructor, he was met with the snarky suggestion by the teacher that he "bring a bigger water bottle next time." The next time he revealed his inner a$$hole was when the woman next to me did a modification to a posture due to an injury and he pranced over to her and informed her that she was "not allowed to make modifications without notifying the instructor ahead of time." Seriously…? After that, the third or fourth person exited the studio, clearly dying from the seemingly noxious heat bearing down upon us. This infuriated the instructor, and he stopped class to lecture us like a teacher does a class of five-year-olds.

"Um, FAR too many people have left today!" He said sternly. A woman near me retorted that the class was "way too hot" and he simply responded in a matter-of-fact tone that this was his third class in a row (of course, not mentioning that all he has to do is stand there and shout commands) and we should just chill out and "meditate." Wow. That comment made me up and leave instantly. In the locker room, I encountered the first to fall from the torturous heat- the blonde. She asked me how I managed to withstand it for such a long time, and I simply shrugged. At least what shall forever be known as the Bikram Class of Death for me caused me to make a new friend. We commiserated about how we were both stuck in that studio for at least 15 classes because we both bought coupons prepaying for them, so we decided to always attend the same ones.

Her name was Alexis, and she said she literally had to rush out to vomit, and officially labeled it a yoga torture chamber, and noted her concerns because of people dying of hear strokes at that temperature. She then assured me that it is typically not that hot at that studio and that I had just chosen a rough class to be my first. Well, we will see how it goes tonight…