My awesome friend, S, and I decided to branch out on our exercise experiences by partaking in a hot yoga class on Saturday morning.
(Haha, I never realized that I use the first initials of my friends like Gossip Girl does on, um, Gossip Girl. S, E, J, L – it’s like how Serena and Blair call each other by their initials and how Gossip Girl totally uses initials to maintain some anonymity but everyone KNOWS who they actually are and – ahem…)
By walking into the building of the hot yoga experience, we inadvertently walked into the world where people think they are awesome all of the time and believe that everyone in a 20 feet radius wants to hear their stupid stories about how fantastic they are. Um, advice? Maybe you don’t want to yell about your awesomeness, as there will always, more often than not, be someone around that WILL judge you. S and I were those people. Just saying.
We sign up, though after being told that we should have registered online. Woopsy. Our bad. When the instructor then told another girl that there may not be room, S and I made sure to make it known that we would gladly give up our spots for an already registered person.
Haha, please. We definitely looked the other way and acted as though the room wasn’t small enough that we could hear the conversation clearly.
What? We really wanted to try hot yoga.
As we entered the holy temple (seriously, it wouldn’t surprise me if some people regarded the room as such), there was barely room for our mats amongst the people chilling out in Savasana (or something).
We giggled our way into setting up our towels, mats, and water, and then promptly settled in to make fun of all the people that were stretching their limbs and waving their hands in time to the haunting music playing on the loudspeakers.
I wish I was kidding. I’m not.
S made note of the creepy way all the people were laying so still, and then we shared in a moment of snickering.
I told her to “sshh” as she cleared her throat, and then burst into laughter at my charming wit.
We both had trouble swallowing our laughter as the instructor started the class and the breathing began. I could hear S’s exhalations tinged with the shaking laughter that only arises when you know you aren’t supposed to be finding anything amusing in the present situation.
As we were “losing ourselves” in our present minds, I instead looked over at S every five seconds to see if she was finding this as funny as I was. She was.
We both couldn’t contain ourselves as the room was filled with heavy breathing that sounded as though it belonged in an orgy. I could practically hear S thinking, “Who breathes like this? What losers!”
I was thinking the same thing.
Class began, and it wasn’t long before sweat was pouring off us in a way that I’m fairly certain neither of us has experienced before. Thank God all the fit people were sweating, too. I think I would have walked out if they were all fresh and dry as I was trying to do downward dog in a puddle of my own sweat.
I was blinded by my sweat more times that I could count. I couldn’t grip anything by the end, so when we were told to hold our knees to our chest, I was frantically trying to get a hold on my slippery leg (and failing miserably). As I glanced over to S, she looked at me with tears in her eyes.
Okay, it was sweat. But the tears would have made sense to me. I was feeling a certain amount of emotion, and it wasn’t because I was getting in tune with my body. It was hot in there, yo.
We managed to finish the class and, let me tell you, there was no laughter going on at the end. There were moments when I felt consciousness slipping away. Seriously, that exercise is frickin’ crazy, but it feels great, and it does wonders for your skin.
Oh, and the breathing we made fun at the beginning? I’m pretty sure we were the loudest ones practicing the extreme exhalation at the end as we tried to keep a hold on our consciousness. Guess those yogis know what they’re talking about…
Who knew?
love!
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