bikram yoga

Entering the yoga studio I took off my shoes just like the website told me to. I’m not sure why this detail of all the “Tips and Etiquette” information that I read stuck with me so well. For some reason I imagined myself not taking my shoes off and being brutally scolded by Pei Mei of Kill Bill fame for disgracing this sacred place with the mud of western soil. Doesn’t matter though, I remember to take off my flip-flops, but I did notice that someone else didn’t and was sorely disappointed that they were not struck down by a lighting bolt from Buddha. Don’t worry I’m equal opportunity when it comes to deity slander.

So we received the nickel tour of the place, fortunately we were in the big room in the back, not behind the creepy curtain with animal pelts on the floor. I thought these yoga people were vegan-environmental-nazis and shit, what the hell is with the animal fur on the floor, faux or not? We signed the waiver that if contort and burst that I won’t sue this strip mall yoga outfit, then we paid them for the first timers’ package while safely navigating the “buy a millions sessions now and save 4 whole dollars” sales pitch. Now began the purgatory period of waiting for the class to start. I had no idea what I should do? Wait in the lobby for the instructor, go into the room and set down my stuff, or maybe roll around behind the curtain on animal pelts reading books on the super healing powers metaphysics and acupuncture. I opted for the couch slash futon looking thing and a trusty copy of Backpacker magazine!

If I would have known then, what I know now I would have marched back into the hot (90-110 degrees) and humid (40%) studio and staked out a good piece of real estate in the training room. Due to my lack of foresight in this area, I landed me a sweet piece of floor, not next to Eve and staring directly at some R35 styrofoam insulation, but none of this compares to Miss. Super Bikram Yoga USA (SBYU) that bullied Eve out of the spot next to me like a strong safety for the Chicago Bears. Once things got rolling, you know with the awkward breathing and contorting stuff, Miss SBYU started making these nasal-throat breathing sounds that fell somewhere between a wheezing of a dying man and the sound I would make if you jumped on my chest unexpectedly while I was laying down. All this basically scared the shit out of me right off the bat. Now to make matters all the more awkward, I had no idea what each pose was called or how I should be going about getting into and out of them. So what does any sane person do? Look at what are others are doing right? So that is what I did, but all I could see was overly sweaty Miss SBYU, who at this point thought I was checking her out. Honestly I was looking at everyone, including her to figure out what the hell I should be doing. I felt like the slow kid at the dance recital, four steps behind looking around, skipping portions in order to catch up, then immediately falling behind again.

So I went through the class, some poses being more difficult (and/or impossible) than others but things were going well. Towards the end of the class, before nappy time (which was my favorite part) we had to do some crazy breathing exercise where I thought I was in a lamaze class for speed addicts. I just skipped that part for now, but maybe next time I’ll try to invigorate my inner-self through rapid breathing techniques, but mostly likely I'll just hyperventilate. The fact of the matter is that I know all this yoga stuff is suppose to be about self awareness, self improvement, enlightenment and all the mumbo-jumbo but really I just want to be able to do those wicked poses and impress my friends and others at parties! Possibly make a buck or two betting my intoxicated friends.