(That title references a hilarious story that I really hope Ahab will share in the comments below.)
Today I tried Hot Yoga with my friend Ahab. Her name is not really Ahab but she told me how much she used to enjoy the pseudonym aspect of Perfect Heart and suggested I bring it back. Now the main reason I used to use pseudonyms was to protect the reputations of the parade of boys I dated when I was single, but I take the point that a little bit of anonymity can be liberating for the writer (me) and tantalizing for the reader (you) and so I will heretofore implement the use of unnecessary pseudonyms forevermore! Hear hear!
Anyway. Hot yoga. It’s really fucking hot. I had been to heated classes before but that was nothing NOTHING like this. I hung in there for about half the class, sweating my way through chaturangas and clumsily attempting standing splits but eventually I had to call it. TOO HOT TO MOVE!! I sat on my mat with my legs out in front of me so that I could at least get a little hamstring stretch while all around me damp but strangely unperturbed yogis did their damn thing. You might be wondering if it is embarrassing to be sitting on your mat in a pool of your own sweat, especially when the entire class turns their warrior pose in your direction, and you are the only one who is not a warrior, but the thought of even standing up in the heat makes you see spots. Well the answer is yes. It is very embarrassing. But there is also an element of “fuck all y’all for being crazy enough to find this enjoyable!”
And yet they do find it enjoyable. Ahab was practicing right in front of me and you should have seen the look of sheer calm/determination on her face as she utkatasana’d in her red sports bra and gym shorts- just as buff as can be! She goes every day and literally told me she wishes it were hotter. Hotter! Ahab would be happy doing yoga on the sun. I would not. But. I will go back at least a couple more times because it’s SO close to my house and Ahab says that some of the teachers don’t make it quite as hot. Plus today I was hungry and just getting over this damn cold so those factors weren’t making the experience any pleasanter.
By the way. You know how at the beginning of a yoga class the instructor usually says “Remember, child’s pose is always available to you”? Well this instructor did not say that. It seemed like a judgmental omission. Like maybe she would have liked to say “Remember, if you feel like transitioning to child’s pose at any point in your practice today: you are a total wuss and maybe you should go back to that hippie studio where the instructor had flames sewn onto her pants and all you did was stretch and chant.” Ahab says she’s kind of bitchy. So.
I am no closer to touching my toes. Yet.
ah, come on, Wonder. people were collapsing all around. my eagle looked like it’d been shot and dipped in cooking oil. but nothing compares to the night another yogi slipped out of an inversion and went careening into the mirror. he not only left a hole where his feet landed, but shattered the entire panel of mirror. i only caught this the next day when the staff had already taped up the shatter with blue painter tape. i walked into the studio and was not only shocked to see this scene, but over the shatter one of the instructors had written out “NAMASTE” in the same blue painter tape. i immediately burst out laughing and yelled out, “What kind of a horror show is this!?” when i turned back to the front lobby, five earnest yogis were staring at me with looks of deep, meditative concern and one answered, “This is serious.” oops.
we had to practice for about a week staring into the mirror, which wreaked havoc on any effort towards better alignment. alas, namaste happens…..
Sarah was watching pregnancy yoga videos… and they say ‘mamaste’. It cracks me up everytime.