No, I'm not referring to the Katy Perry song, as awesome as it is.
It turns out I am very "princess and the pea" when it comes to yoga. My fine-tuned sensitivity to heat and humidity bolster me up to a level of high-maintenance much akin to that of Paris Hilton or any other Beverly Hills blonde. I could never even hope to express the degree to which hot yoga boosts my spirits and calms my mind. Beads of sweat carting evil toxins out through every pore on my body as they roll down my skin provide me with a fantastic yoga high (yes, that is what us yogis call it) that lasts for the rest of the day and likely instill the thought that I am literally high into the minds of those with whom I cross paths.
Yet somehow, if the temperature and humidity of the room fall ever-so-slightly outside of my personal acceptable range, the yoga high and mental stability are shattered and replaced with something much different- a mutant emotion composed on part rage, part impatience, and part something else I cannot place my finger on. I turn into the guy the doctor guy in the Hulk (comic fans don't kill me for now knowing his name- I'm aware I could easily look it up but my finger is simply too lazy to reach all the way to the top of the keyboard to the "new tab" button) whenever the temperature dips too low or climbs too high. The worst is when it fluctuates during class- I can feel my skin turn green as the temperature falls to below 100 degrees, and again when it hits an uncomfortable 110.
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