The Art of Meditation

S and I have become addicted to hot yoga. Sure, part of it might be the knowledge that it burns almost 1000 calories per 90 minute session (!!) but it also makes our skin feel amazing and we feel super cleansed.

I even feel like eating salad afterwards.

I know, right?

We went to another class on Monday night, S wanting to work off a McChicken sandwich and me wanting to work off a large amount of chocolate consumed earlier in the day (some of which may have been eaten before lunch. Don’t judge me).

I don’t know if the heat was on higher than usual or we were just in a spot that got very poor circulation, but it was bloody hot in that room. The thing is, when I’m working out with a lot of people around, I tend to push myself a little more so I don’t feel quite so inadequate.

Newsflash? You can’t do that in hot yoga. Seriously, your body, like, won’t let you. My heart started pounding, my head was spinning, and holding my arms in the air felt like the hardest exercise in the world. If you push past your limit, you will die.

So while everyone is holding Warrior 3 for hours on end, I curl down into Child’s Pose to catch my breath. Also, I can’t see everyone else so I forget that there are much fitter people all around me.

Well I mean, really. Watching the little blonde Gumby-like freak ahead of me curl her body into ridiculous poses while I couldn’t even touch my foot with my legs straight just makes me feel really bad about myself, and that’s not what yoga is about, okay?!

Ahem.

So, it was hot. The studio just got new windows installed that open (novelty!) but they obviously don’t open them very much because that would defeat the purpose of hot yoga. Maybe they think people won’t sweat as much? Which, unless you’re me, is probably true.

The windows were open the tiniest little crack. I, in my desperation for air that wasn’t thick with the sweat of 29 other people and cranked to a toasty 100 degree Fahrenheit, crouched toward the window in the hope of catching a tiny breeze.

Ah, bliss! I found that if I knelt in front of the window, tilted my head to the side at about a 90 degree angle, and pressed my nose directly against the little window so that my nostrils were placed quite prominently on the window’s edge (think Miss Piggy), I could breathe cold air. And that’s what I did.

Please keep in mind that the windows face a very busy street. And they don’t have curtains on them.

Whatever. It helped. So suck it.

Finally, the end of class was upon us. Since meditation is an integral part of the yoga practice, we ended the class with a collective “om” that would release any tension that built up as a result of some of the more difficult moves.

Or something.

All I know is that I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs to last even halfway through the “om” and, even if I could, it wouldn’t have happened because S couldn’t hold the laughter in any longer.

And, by extension, that means I couldn’t, either.

It started with hearing S snicker. As soon as I heard her, I lost control of my own laughter and started to shake uncontrollably as I prayed to Buddha (what? It’s yoga, it’s like his thing) that I wouldn’t snort. I kind of hope it looked like I was crying, what with being so emotional as I became in tune with my body.

S tried to cover her hysterics by pretending to sneeze into her towel. She’s actually that awesome.

Everyone meditates differently. We just happen to do it by laughing ourselves into hysterics.

And you know what? A laughing fit with a close friend is better meditation and relaxation than any yoga practice.

Hugs and kisses,

Bella

(Oh, yeah, the hugs and kisses? It’s kind of this new thing I’m trying, you know, as a sign off. Jury’s still out.)

The World of Hot Yoga...Is Sweaty

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?