Tonight, I attended my third hot yoga class. Hot yoga is ordinary yoga performed in a warm environment. Heat allows the body to attain higher levels of flexibility and pliability. This evening, when I entered the yoga studio, it was balmy. My brow was moist within minutes. This troubled me. The yoga instructor, Aidan, entered and proceeded in leading us in a “warm up”. The warm up lasted five minutes or so. Beads of sweat gathered on my skin. Aidan asked us to stand tall and centre ourselves. He stepped off his mat and made his way to the wall.
“He’s not going to … he wouldn’t dare!” I thought.
“Now to turn on the heaters,” he announced. I noted humour in his voice. “Let’s make it nice and hot.”
On hearing this, I felt light headed. Sirens wailed in my mind. “Oh my God, I might actually die this evening,” I said to myself. “I can’t take any more heat.” Could Aidan not tell it was hot ? Is Aidan reptilian? There was clearly no need for heaters. Did he wish to murder me?
In the extreme heat the room’s occupancy twisted and turned in multiple asanas. One position required that I balance on one leg while raising the opposite arm high above my head. This felt like my legs were being ripped from their sockets. My grand finale was a head stand. In this position, Aidan instructed me to tighten my core muscles. At this point I need remind you that this physical exertion was performed on what was a warm day, in an already warm room that was heated to sauna conditions. Is it any wonder my head reeled?
Half an hour into the class, sweat rolled down my arms and legs like an intricate series of streams. My leg resembled a mini river basin. My feet were so sweaty that they squeaked when I moved on my mat. On a few occasions, I almost slipped due to excessive amounts of moisture. My t-shirt clung to me like an extra layer of skin; Had I been teleported to a swimming pool? Eventually, when the class came to a close, I rose from my mat to witness a sweat-angel imprint. I hobbled outside to get a lungful of cool(er) air.
I can be a sweaty bastard sometimes, but tonight I experienced a new level. While I might have sweated excessively, there is one thing in which I take solace. I am glad I did not smell anything like the attendant of the class, who was on my right. This guy permeated a mighty tang. I am embarrassed for him, the sweaty bastard.