Back when I lived in Nashville, I worked with a local
animal welfare organization (which I’ll refer to as LAWO). I got to meet so
many of my neighbors, fostered a ton of dogs, and worked alongside some
absolutely kick-ass women. Like
most such organizations, fund-raising was a huge deal. We were stoked when a
local yoga instructor (we’ll call her No-Sweat-Sandy) offered to do a Hot Yoga “Karma
Class” benefitting LAWO at 2:00 on a Sunday afternoon. I asked around the day before the class to see which other ladies from LAWO were going to join me to represent the organization. I got
two other ladies volunteer to go, and I was getting excited to try hot yoga.
Keep in mind that I was about 60 lbs overweight at the time, and I thought Hot
Yoga was like “Hawt Yoga”…like as in sexy. I mean, they have stripper pole
workouts, so I seriously thought that Hot Yoga was sexy yoga. I should have
fired up Google before deciding this workout was a good idea.
Well, by Sunday morning, both of the other ladies had stuff
come up…meaning that I was the only one going to the “Karma Class” after all.
Excitement starts turning into fear. GREAT. At 1:00, I decide to eat lunch, but
I’m starving, so lunch was on the heavy side (the first of MANY bad decisions
that day…if you don’t count GOING to hot yoga as the first bad decision).
Half-way through my hearty soup (and after my giant sandwich), the husband
reminds me that it's 1:20 and I’m still in my pajamas. Run, run run…hair in
greasy ponytail (since I haven’t showered since Friday morning...don't judge) Find yoga pants
that are now high-waters because my lovely husband put them through the dryer.
Think about changing my shirt, but figure no one will see the coffee stain I
dribbled that morning. What is that
smell? Oh shit! I had guacamole with
dinner last night! I REALLY have to brush my teeth. How have I NOT done that
already? I’m disgusting! Do I need to bring my own yoga mat? Well, here is one
in the corner collecting dust. Will people notice that it is covered in paw
prints? (We used it for Dog#2’s rehab after knee surgery.) Wait…is that dog poop? Holy fuck, it’s
1:30!” Run out to car…where the hell
is my GPS? I can’t find my way out of a paper bag without it! “Husband! Where the hell is
the GPS??? Where are
my keys? Husband! Where the fuck are my keys?” OMG, it is 1:45! I’m already supposed to be there! (First –timers
were supposed to get to the studio at 1:45.) Enter grumpy hubby to help me look
for said keys. Finally find them and jump in the car.
I’m trying to calm down, and I’m praising Jesus for every
green light I hit. As a matter of fact, the only red light I hit is a the exact
moment I needed to stop and put the address into the GPS…so I think God really
wanted me at yoga (in my world, God is quite the comedian). There is even a
parking spot right in front…and it’s only 1:58. I’m totally on time! (Ok…Not
really, considering my first-timer-status. I figured I’d just pretend I was
ignorant of that rule and say that I thought the class started at 2:00. I’m an
idiot. Pretending to not know when I was supposed to be somewhere really isn’t
a stretch.) How the hell do I get into
this place? Run, run, run. Do I have
to go in the back? What the fuck? Run, run, run. YES! DOOR! Elevator or stairs? Elevator or stairs? I’m going to work
out so should I just start early and take the stairs? Nah. Feverishly hit
the elevator button no less than 17 times…and go up…one floor. Yes, I’m that
asshole. Run, run, run. Go into reception area and ask where the Karma class
is. Receptionist hands me the waiver form. WAIVER FORM?!? I panic. Name…name? What is my damn name? Ok…e-mail
address…why the hell do they need that? Shit…I don’t need more junk mail. Too late now. Must. Write. Faster.
Emergency contact? What the hell happens in that room? Am I gonna die?
Throw waiver back at receptionist with a quick “thank you,” and as I’m running
to the door to the class, she tells me to take breaks if needed but to stay in
the room as much as possible. Ok Creeper.
More running. YES!
Found the door! Bust into the room banging my purse and keys all over the
place. "Graceful" has never been used to describe me. Oh my fucking gawd, it is so
fucking hot. Why is it so hot? Wait…”hot yoga” is just…hot yoga? Well this is
terribly anticlimactic...and sweatily uncomfortable. OMG, there are so many
people here…and they are already in some sort of pose. I’m so late! I try
to make room for myself with my poopy yoga mat and No-Sweat-Sandy has to stop
and ask people to make room for me. I apologize to the class for being late
with some lame excuse about dog shit hitting the fan (which is true…there were
lots of little LAWO crises that morning), so Sandy is like, “Oh! You’re from
LAWO? Can you tell us a bit more about the organization?” External voice: “Why
yes, I’d love to!” Internal voice: Um, can’t
you see that I’m already out of breath from taking the elevator? I mean seriously. Why is it so hot in here? I don’t remember
what all was said in that flustered moment, but I do know that I mentioned that
we only worked locally and were powerless without the community’s support. There
was some other blah, blah, blah, and thanking them for their support as well. However, I do remember that at some point,
I also jokingly said that if we weren’t saving dogs, then that meant we were out
drinking. I also mentioned that we were always late (as I was for class) and
that sometimes we were capable of saving dogs, drinking, and running late simultaneously.
The skinny not-sexy yoga crowd was unimpressed.
I throw off my shoes, make some more noise with my purse
& keys and get into the class’s position where I’m kneeling and then
bending over so my head touches the mat. Apparently, this is called “child’s
pose.” Note, it is the ONLY pose I liked the whole fucking class. What
transpires next is a complete fog of contortions and sweat. Why does everyone have a towel on their mat?
Oh yeah…HOT yoga. Everyone has water! Fuck! Who the hell comes to any workout
without water? The water bottle is what makes you all official! Look at my fat
belly in the mirror. Oh God! I hope no one else sees my fat belly in the
mirror! How the hell are they all keeping their shirts down? Damn it is hot in
here!
What is that? WHAT THE
FUCK IS THAT? Is that sweat?...on my knee? Do knees have sweat glands?
Dripping…oh God…I’m dripping. Look at all these skinny bitches with their
towels! Well, this white trash girl doesn’t need a stinking towel. I’m just
gonna hang out over here on my poop mat. Oh God…hands sweaty…I’m slipping!
Maybe I do need a towel. Why can’t I see? I’m getting tunnel vision!
Please don’t pass out! Please don’t pass out! My knee is supposed to be where?
While my elbow is what? Let me just stay here and relax in “downward dog” for a
while. Thanks. Oh look at the skinny bitch next to me balancing on just her
hands. Freak. Why did I lose feeling in my right thumb? I can see it down there
next to the pool of sweat that has dripped from my brow, but why can’t I feel
it? I hope I got the husband’s number written correctly for the emergency contact on that waiver form because I really think I’m dying. I really
want to leave, but the skinny receptionist said to stay in the room. Should I break the rules? I don’t think my
fat ass can out-run all these yogis if they decide to lynch me for breaking the
rules. Besides, I think the receptionist could totally take me. What the fuck
is that smell? Sweat? Guacamole? Greasy hair? Poop???
At that point, No-Sweat-Sandy announces that we are through
the first 30 minutes of the class (class was scheduled for an hour). WHAT?!?!?!?!? Only 30??? Back to “child’s pose. I break radio silence and
whisper to the girls next to me that I’m really glad I’m between them so that I
can follow their lead…in between my “downward dog” breaks. The skinny girl to
my right smiles and says that she is learning too. The skinnier girl to my left
(who was the freak able to balance on just her hands) looks like she could
punch me for speaking. OOOoooookkkkkkaaaaayyyy. A few more
power moves and then we start the cool-down. Ah…the blessed cool-down. Part of
it even consisted of just laying on the mat! Sure, officially it is “dead
man’s” pose, but you just got to lay there! In your sweat-pool. At that point,
Sandy found the thermostat, and I enjoyed the entrance of some cool air. Well sheesh. If I had known that the
thermostat was RIGHT THERE, I could have saved us all from this hot nightmare!
Of course, I was still in fear the whole time that this was all a cruel joke
and that we would go back to power moves. However, after the cool-down,
class was (thankfully) over.
I wait around to say thanks to No-Sweat-Sandy, and that’s
when I realize that no one else is packing up their purses and putting on
shoes. Where the hell are all their
purses and shoes? Did these hippies really show up barefoot? Apparently
there were cubbies I was supposed to use for my things. Totally missed
that…along with the note on the door that said that I wasn’t supposed to come in
the room if it was less than 2 minutes before the class was supposed to start. Oops. Well that receptionist was no help.
Sandy is talking to a student about whether or not hot yoga is bad for a fetus.
Apparently one of the student’s heard from someone who heard from someone else
who heard from a very reliable source that hot yoga sucks all the blood supply
away from the baby. Sandy says that it won’t kill the baby. I say she is wrong.
I almost died. The unborn don't stand a fucking chance. Continue waiting to talk to Sandy. So
tired of waiting. I look creepy just standing here waiting. Check myself out in
mirror again. At least now my shirt is so drippy and saggy that my belly
doesn’t show! Put that in the "win" column.
I figure I’ll go back to the reception area to wait for
Sandy. I get to the lobby and am greeted again by the not-so-helpful
receptionist. OMG. Is that a glass-front
fridge?...full of water? Where was that BEFORE class? Must have it! $2.50 you
say? I will give you my right arm for some water at this point. Tell ya' what…I’ll give you money and you give me the water, and nobody has to get hurt.
Ok? I try to hand her my debit card, but I’m so tired and my hands are
shaking so badly that my arms will not cooperate. I just kind of
toss my card onto the counter because that’s truly all I’m capable of. I figure that
Miss Less-Than-Helfpul can reach it for it herself. I gulp down my very expensive water while reminding myself
not to puke.
Sandy finally comes in…trailed by bloodless-fetus girl, but
Sandy finally just cuts her off to save us all from a level of stupid that is
incomprehensible. I thank No-Sweat-Sandy again for the Karma Class and apologize for being so late.
She says it was no problem and that she really enjoyed my energy in the room. It
was sweet of her to lie. She also shared another little tid-bit of information:
it was one of her hardest yoga classes! (Maybe that was a lie too, but I really
need to pretend that she was telling the truth and that there is no such thing
as a harder version of hot yoga. There just can’t be.) I guess when No-Sweat-Sandy
was getting ready to start the class, she realized that she recognized all the
faces in the room as her regular students. She told them that since the class was full of veterans, that they should do a full-fledged power-yoga session. I’m guessing my fat ass busted into the room
right after she made that important announcement. I asked if it was ok that I felt like
puking half-way through the class. She giggled and said, “oh
yeah!...certainly!” We talk a bit more, and I finally head out the door…which I
can still barely see because of the tunnel vision. I decide now is the time to
take the stairs only to realize that I don’t know how to get out of the
building. Every exit in the stairwell is labeled as an office or emergency
exit. Sonofabitch. I’m tired. I’m sweaty. I don’t have the energy for this
shit. Climb back up stairs to take the elevator down…one floor.
Lessons learned about hot yoga (that are probably obvious to
anyone else):
1. It’s NOT sexy. It is so fucking hot that it is in no way
sexy. Nope. Not at all.
2. Never ever
EVER be late. Bad things happen when you are late.
3. Don’t eat before hot yoga. It’s like going in for surgery.
Nothing but clear fluids for at least 12 hours before you go in.
4. Speaking of fluids…bring some damn water! And a towel!
5. Thou shalt not wear shoes or bring your purse into the
yoga room.
6. Do not speak or even make eye-contact with the other
students. Those skinny bitches be angry.
7. As long as you haven’t showered recently, no one will be
able to tell that there is dog poop on your yoga mat.
