Today I took my first ever Bikram yoga class. It was a bitch.
I can’t remember when I first heard of taking a yoga class in a hot room, or why I though “hey, that sounds like a good idea.” I do know that last fall when a Google Offer for 20 classes for $20 at a studio near my house presented itself, I got excited and purchased the coupon with reckless abandon.
I kept putting off using the coupon out of fear that Bikram yoga would kick my ass. Today, I could finally fit a class into my schedule, so I went for it.
Holy mother of God, I had no clue what I was in for. I thought I could take the heat ’cause I lived in Phoenix for seven years. 105 degrees? Psh-sha, I’ve been in a 115. Except, I didn’t do freaking yoga in that heat. I ran from my air conditioned car to air conditioned buildings when it was 115 degrees outside, avoiding the feeling of being in an oven as much as I could.
From a yoga perspective, I figured that the class would be hard, but doable. I’ve done yoga before, I can handle some of those crazy moves. Turns out, I can’t handle crazy yoga moves in a hot room.
The good news is that I made it through the entire class without leaving the room. The bad news is that I felt like I wanted to vomit, pass out, and die during about half the class. No amount of lying down and drinking water helped.
I left the class thinking “I am never doing that again.” Now, after a few hours have passed, I may rethink my stance and give it another go. Partially because I’m crazy, partially because I’m a glutton for punishment, and partly because I feel like it can only get better from here.