Namaste

Went to Bikram yoga tonight, even though I had already run a quick (endless) 35 minutes this morning. Just for the record. (Although I can now listen to Slate.com's podcast, plus the front pages of the New York Times. I was rockin' to the Times, people!!)

Back to Bikram. It was kind of crowded. And it was mild outside, so the temp inside was, well, really, incredibly, extremely, very, very hot. The room is dark when you get there; you go in quietly, pick out your place, roll out your yoga mat and cover it with a towel.

And that's where things went wrong.

I made the faux pas of asking the young lady next to me if she could move her mat over a few millimeters. I was smack up against the wall (the wall of windows! cool windows!!) but there are a few poses where you actually need space on either side of you, like this poorma salabhasana, for instance:



Hold pose for the rest of your life.

See, this pose? Means you need a bit of room.

Well shut my mouth. My request was met with a huge sigh, rolling eyes, the statement "Well, then I won't be able to see myself in the mirror," plus assorted other inimitable signs of total utter exasperation. She moved, making sure she made a lot of damn noise, what with moving her towel and water bottle and all. Plus all the sighing.

See, the thing about yoga is, it's all about the moment. You're supposed to be in the moment, and let stuff go. Our yoga chick teacher kept reminding us of this: "When you finish one pose, have no regrets, because it's over, you'll never have it back, just move on to the next one." (Just like life!!) In between poses, you try to get still as quickly as possible. Because 1) it's 150 degrees, and 2) you need to slow your heart down. She kept reminding us of this as well. "Just notice what you do between poses. Do you immediately reach for the water? Or the towel? Or re-do your hair? Or fidget?" I tend to get into "the still" asap, before I die. But this chicka who was so bent outta shape about moving over 1/2 inch, well, I noticed she didn't know what still meant.

The inside still eluded me tonight, as I spent too many minutes of this 90-minute class letting this kid get to me. Thinking about what I'd like to say to her. Trying to think kind thoughts: like maybe she had a bad day? Then, thinking that once we were in the locker room, I'd explain yoga to her. Right in her face. Then, actually worrying that she'd punch me out in the locker room.

So, I guess what I'm saying is: Don't be taking a yoga class, especially a HOT yoga class, if you can't move your big fat ass over 1/2 inch.