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Jan 22, 2014

Hot Yoga

Let's talk about it.

I do it. I heart it. I want to get better at it.

But I only get to go once a week because I'm busy as shit and that class is hella long.
Plus, it seems to be defeating the point if I am stressing out about making another yoga class when I am supposed to be all namaste and shit.

Anyways.
I chose Hot Yoga for three reasons:



1) I'm not flexible and the flexibility I do have is lopsided.
Oh...ha, what does that mean?
It means one side of me is more bendy than the other. I have no idea.
Like...one arm can reach up my spine nearly to my shoulders and the other one can't go past my love handles.

2) I need to chill the F out on a more regular basis.
What ends up happening usually is I am racing to my yoga class, late, per usual, and there is some fuck tard in front of me DRIVING THE SPEED LIMIT and I am screaming at him through the windshield that I need to "get to my f-ing yoga class so I can find inner peace!"
Real mature, I know.

3) It's the most depressing time of the year.
And I loathe the cold.
And the room is 105.
Enough said.

I should also mention that since I sweat so much I don't need to bother with things like a touch of make-up or cute hair. Because by the time 75 minutes is over I am scrambling to mop myself up so that someone else doesn't slip in my filth and could care less that I look like a sweaty pig because I FEEL AMAZING



My main issue is the fact that I do sweat.
A lot.
More than I think most people sweat.
More than my husband sweats.

I am one of those people that gets sweaty and my FOREARMS and SHINS sweat.
I am one of those people that will be sweaty from doing whatever physical activity, pause for a moment, and, if barefoot, leave a puddle where I was standing, in the shape of a foot.
Gross out.

Bayou is a lucky man.

I do love Hot Yoga because it forces me to stretch further and focus more on myself than I have ever done in all the minutes of the week before then.
But in loving this activity; I find myself having to purchase clothing that hides boob stains and swamp ass.
I used to not care but it gets really real in that class and the last thing I need is to be bent over in front of someone else and my coo is smiling a sweaty smile at them.

Also...because I am an avid sweater...attempting more advanced poses gets tricky.

Like...here I am crouching into crow position and I can feel my shins sliding away from my arms.
So then I have to break my concentration, wipe my parts down, try again.
And so on and so forth.

Is there some type of full body antiperspirant I can douche myself in that will allow my pores to stop creating a waterpark for a hot minute so I can solidy my headstand without blinding myself with sweat?

Should I just start wearing a paper towel lined green man suit and admit defeat?


My favorite part of the class is when it's over, and we are lying on the ground "meditating" or as I like to call it, "feeling the sweat slowly start to dry on my face and drip onto my mat while trying to regulate my breathing or maybe just fall asleep," and then the instructor, the angel instructor, comes over and drops an ice cold eucalyptus infused wash cloth into your hand.

And she has saved you.

And you unwrap that shit and cover your face in it.

And it's so cold and fresh and you feel so alive again.

And then you feel your heart pumping hot blood through your veins and you are internally shouting at your heart to "give it a rest already!"

And then you have to sit up and namaste the class for kicking your ass and causing you to drop 10 pounds of water weight, all the while the ice cold wash rag is resting perfectly on the back of your neck.

Zen at its finest.

Yoga is my bitch.
TBag. Out.