Hot Yoga

I open the door and walk in.  There is a thick heat that almost hits me like a brick wall.  I try to breathe in the air, but it is heavy and requires a deep inhale to suck it all in.  In this dimly lit room, there are a few bodies splayed out on mats.  A light melody plays above my head, but it is oh so quiet, as if the heat is smothering the sound from blasting over the speakers.  I choose an obscure corner, and lay out my mat. There is a message reflecting back to me on the mirrored wall:  I love my life.  Hmmm. I haven’t really thought about my life lately, but suddenly, I feel like I have to make a mental inventory in my head so that I could love my life.

 

I do have beautiful, healthy children.

I do have family nearby that love and support me.

I do feel strong and powerful for entering this room through the smothering heat.

 

And before I know it, the music is blasting.  A petite, tattooed woman in nothing but second skin spandex and a sports bra is yelling at me.  We are pumping our legs and humping our mats. We are bouncing on bricks and squeezing rubber balls between our thighs.  We are downward facing dogs.  We are bouncing bears.  We are posed like children. 

 

I am dripping in sweat, feeling light-headed, trying to practice 4 seconds of deep inhale breathing and trying to force out a deep 4 second exhale through my mouth.  I am fighting to stay alive in this 42°C hot box of a hell. Right now, I am NOT loving my life!

 

And finally, we are splayed back out on our mats with our towels and our clothes soaked through with our sweat.  Exhilarated or delirious from the heat, I’m not sure which one, I walk out the door with gratitude for having survived and finished this class.  Ecstatic at seeing my beautiful, healthy children again; and knowing my family is nearby to love and support me; and feeling strong and powerful for walking out of this room of smothering heat; I love my life.

 

Namaste.