Bikram Yoga Explained in Real Time

March 30, 2011 at 4:06 pm

On train to studio: This is so exciting! I love going to an exercise class in the city! I feel like a plucky single-girl heroine of a middling to awful romantic comedy. Yay! Oops, I just hit a homeless man with my yoga mat. Dammit.

Arriving at studio: WHOA THAT IS THE SMELL OF FEET. FEET AND ASS SMELL JUST HIT ME IN THE FACE. Can’t….gasp….breathe.

Signed in, on way to locker room: FEET FEET FEET FEET FEET. Oh God, I’m sweating already and I’m not even in the room yet. Stupid sweaty, Italian genes. I’m built for pasta and siestas, not hot-box torture sessions.

Locker room: BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS Naked Conversation BOOBS

Into room to claim a spot with yoga mat, towel and water: Must get near open window. FEET SMELL INTENSIFIED.

Laying down on mat and waiting for class to begin: This isn’t… so… bad…. unconscious for 10 minutes….

Instructor walks in: Must… stand… up.


10 minutes in: This is horrible. Why did I come back here? My arms are so tired. I can’t keep them up over my head this long. No, YOU push, Donagey!


20 minutes in: Yeah, I know, lady. I’m trying to do the move but my hands are dripping with sweat- is there some kind of magic way to hold your foot for 30 seconds without your hands springing apart because of gravity and LOGIC? If there is, please, share it with me.

21.5 minutes: Ugh. I hate this move. I hate this move the most.

22 minutes: Yesssss, I rock at this move. It doesn’t really make sense because I’m heavier than all you skinny, sopping wet bitches but I can stand on one leg and you can’t- HELL YEAH I CAN. Omg, the girl next to me just toppled over. She looks like a praying mantis in a windstorm. Ha ha ha. Oh crap, my laughing at her is making me shake. Hold steady, steady- kick and KICK. I can totally do yoga. I’m a genius. An athletic genius.

24 minutes: Hold it. Hoooooolddddd, ugh I hate this so much. How can they keep their feet planted? I am sweating everywhere, foot keeps slipping. Do these people have scale-like grips on their body or something?


30 minutes: They’re kidding right? Balance on one leg and then sit down, all without my hands? Can a human being do this? This isn’t exercise, this is bragging while sweating. Oh wait, I guess that’s just “exercising.”

35 minutes: YES. Lay down. I love this. Ow, ow, ow except my back hurts. My back really, really hurts. “Let the floor hold you” my ass. How about let the floor pay $150 a month for waterboarding sessions at a place that smells like a pedicurist’s hell cave.


40 minutes: Yes. Yes. Thank you for proving that this is called “Wind Removing Pose” for a reason, Hairy Dude in the Back. May I recommend renaming it “Chorus of Organic Farts Pose”?

45 minutes: “Put my hands under my body while I’m face down on my stomach.” My Catholic school would not be happy about this pose.


55 minutes: KICK MY FEET UP WHERE? This is crazy. Oh my god, I have no strength whatsover. I am the weakest human being alive. I am a mouse’s sneeze.

60 minutes: Airplane. Wheeeeeee- uggggghhhh this hurts. And-plop- back down, yes, let’s just stay here. And sleep- dammit! I don’t want to get up, nooooo.

65 minutes: I’m going to throw up.


70 minutes: I’m definitely going to throw up. I’m not even really DOING anything and it feels like a samurai just slashed my stomach with his sword. He smells like feet. Am I crying? I can’t tell if I’m crying or sweating? Are tears coming out of my arms?

75 minutes: I did not throw up. It’s a miracle. A yoga miracle. “Eventually, you’ll be able to put your forehead to your toes.” I’ll just schedule that rib-removing surgery for next week, good to know.


82 minutes: Don’t pretend like you invented this move. I’ve been doing this move since before you were born.

85 minutes: I cannot believe I’ve been in this room for this long. I could’ve seen a movie instead of doing this. A Matthew McConghey movie would be less painful than this.

90 minutes: This exhale-only breathing is stupid. Whatever, I’ll just fake it. If she says something to me, I will punch her with my sweaty fist. And then I’ll fall on her crying. It won’t be pretty for anybody.

91 minutes: IT’S OVER. I’M ALIVE.

92 minutes: I’M ALIVE. FEET.

POPSICLES. This is seriously the most delicious thing I have ever

eaten. GIVE ME ALL THE POPSICLES. COLORS. I CAN SEE

COLORS.

Locker Room: BOOBS WHO CARES WE SURVIVED BOOBS FEET BOOBS

Aaaaaand scene.

 

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No Kidding Henrietta Lacks


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I am a writer who has lived in DC, Los Angeles and Chicago. In the morning, I write novels. During the day, I write ads, brochures, websites and blogs. At night, I don't do any writing because that's too much writing.

Trying to be Auntie Mame but right now I feel more like Liz Lemon in execution. It's a process, people.

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