Dr. Dunce Does Hot Yoga

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.