Survival of the Hottest

I’m lying on my back, gazing at a ceiling fan that is apparently on. I see it turning, but I feel nothing of its effects. My heart is pounding in my ears, nearly drowning out the sound of the large industrial heaters that are cranked to 105 degrees. Sweat is pouring across my skin as though someone were standing above me with a fire hose.

I wish they were.

Did I mention it’s hot?

Someone asked me the other day how I liked Bikram Yoga. My response? “Well, other than the struggle to survive without passing out or throwing up, it’s pretty great.”

For an hour and a half we do a set series of postures–twice. I’ve done it a few times now, and it’s changing me. I have some tightness in my middle back and some compression in my lower spine, and if I don’t practice yoga, I’m in constant pain. The crippling kind. Since doing this insane style of yoga, I am better.

I remind myself of that while I’m lying there wondering if the fan is really on or if I’m hallucinating. Somewhere off in the distance, I vaguely hear the teacher crack the window open, and almost instantly feel a cool breeze wash across my body. I gulp it in with gratitude. There’s something about being taken to the edge that makes you weak with relief when something nice happens to you. I suddenly love that teacher.

Except for the occasional “get me the hell out of here” and “help me, God” prayers, my mind stops when I’m in Bikram. That’s the best part. And when I leave, I feel peaceful and contented (especially after a shower and a huge bottle of cold water). It’s like taking a Quaalude, but infinitely better. In the afterglow, I love my life. I love everyone. Everything is okay.

Red Dragon

Bikram San Rafael

Yoga !08