How can you make the practice of holding your body in poses with names like ‘awkward’ and ‘wind removal’ for 90 minutes in a 100-degree room sound appealing to somebody who’s never experienced it? That was my challenge earlier this week as I attempted to persuade a friend to join me for a hot yoga class. A year ago I was the person being convinced.
My regimen up until a year ago was a motley assortment of physical activities designed to mitigate the calories I routinely consumed in copious quantities of chips and salsa. I swam, hiked, and sweat profusely all over my gym’s stepmill. I was perfectly content with my exercise routine. When a friend invited me to attend a hot yoga class with her, I agreed more as a friendly gesture than an actual interest in yoga…hot yoga, no less.
Thinking that yoga was the equivalent of a few good stretches, I had engaged in my full work-out (including weights) at the gym just prior to class. My legs wobbled the entire 90 minutes. I was less concerned about the wobbly legs than I was about the fear of passing out from the heat. Despite these issues, I found myself enjoying the poses. I took my survival as I sign that I should give it another try under less fatigued circumstances. I returned the next week, and then the next. I kept going until I actually craved the heat.
I still engage in my motley assortment of physical activities, but I now consider yoga to be the highlight of my exercise week. My balance is better than it ever has been. I feel strong and agile, and my back feels amazingly pliant afterwards. My addiction, however, is just as much mental as it is physical. I love the challenge of poses that seem to elude me (i.e., ‘standing bow’). I love the 10 minutes at the end of class when we lie in savasana and I’m able to fully relax. I lie still, shutting out the normal noise that clutters my mind, and ponder only the good things in my life.
There is a sign on the door into the yoga studio that says “Smiles only beyond this point”. I think there should be a sign just like that on the way out. That’s how I feel after class. Maybe if I told my friend that, she would join me for class.
