Swing and a miss.

Sorry I missed yesterday. I had a post all planned, but then the day got away on me and by the time I had a chance to sit at my laptop, it was after 2 am. And I decided that it was okay to miss a day. Especially since officially, Lent doesn’t include Sundays and I’ve been faithfully posting away on the Lord’s Day, so technically, I’ve got, like, five freebies.

However, there is much to discuss. Today is April Fool’s Day. Rather, I guess it was, since it’s well past noon and the pranking hour is over. April 1st is also Maui’s birthday. That alone explains a lot. Because Maui is definitely a bit of a joke, as far as cats go. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I love that stupid cat, but she’s like a walking contradiction. All pretty and soft, but heaven help you if you fall for her siren’s song and lean down to pet her, unless you are a) Adam, b) myself, or c) utterly reckless and don’t mind seeing significant quantities of your own blood. She will rip you to shreds. Complete evisceration is her ultimate goal. Who knew this little cute ball of fluff would turn into the beautiful ball of neuroses we’ve had for eight years?

Seriously. So cute. Who knew what that cuteness was concealing.

Another thing that happened yesterday is hot yoga sesh #3. Interestingly, I’m no longer hating it (or myself for being there). Now that I know the order of postures, it’s much less stressful, because I know the end is near (this is the only time I’m anticipating using that phrase in a positive way). I don’t actually hate it, but it’s not very demanding, apart from the heat. I like the detox/sweat-it-out part. I feel like it’s good for my skin, but the postures don’t really challenge my strength or flexibility. I also realized yesterday that there is absolutely no hip openers in the series, which is odd to me.

Yesterday’s class was led by a teacher named Peter, who was pretty funny. Definitely my style of class. He was making jokes and providing really good cues and individual attention. At one point, he said “shit” and then apologized for his “Turette’s” moment. He also made fun of Nickleback, so you know he’s a good guy. I liked him. Too bad he’s leaving after today to teach in California for a year.

At the beginning of class, he asked if anyone was new, or had taken just two or three classes. I held my hand up. This was a mistake. He asked my name, leading to this not uncommon dialogue:

Me: “Bay.”

Peter: “May?”

Me: “Um, no. Bay. Like Hudson’s Bay.” A chorus of laughter ensued. Aren’t I hilarious.

He asked if I was liking it (and I lied and said yes, which I felt was better than telling the truth) and told me to take it easy, because I was still relatively new-ish. I didn’t offer up that I am, in fact a yoga instructor who has been practicing regularly for eight years, having taken my first yoga class at the age of 15. And being a dancer my whole life. What’s the problem with leaving that tidbit of info out? Well, everyone around me—which is to say the 347 people in class next to me—all gave me that kindly oh-you’re-a-newc0mer smile. You know, that one where they almost look sympathetic, as though to say, “Don’t worry: We’ve all been new. You’ll be okay.”

I mean, really, they’re all super sweet and nice and supportive and everything. After about three postures, I’m getting looks of interest mixed with mild confusion: “Didn’t she just say she was new?” After Peter called out that I was “killing it”, I really felt like a poser (Ha! Get it? “Poser” Because of the yoga poses! No? Not funny? Just me? Okay then.). Because Bikram’s isn’t particularly difficult, posture or strength-wise. It’s just really, really, exceedingly warm. I mean, it’s toasty. So I felt like a big show off, even though I wasn’t trying to be. This was not as big of an issue as I’m making it out to be, but you gotta write something in a blog. So there it is.

Now then, it wouldn’t be a recap about a hot yoga class if I didn’t mention the sweat and unyielding heat. You see, I’m not really certain that you are understanding how hot it is in that room. So I looked it up. It’s 40.6°C with a humidity of 40%. That is warm. Add in the 60 or so people in there sweating profusely and that temp/humidex jumps up pretty quickly. There are so many people in there that your mat is mere inches from the person next to you (which is not unlike a packed led primary class, so I’m not weirded out by the lack of personal space).

The guy in front of me, who has been at EVERY class I’ve taken (I think he just lives there and sweats it out five times a day), loses a LOT of sweat. It’s disturbing. There was a puddle on his mat, on TOP of his towel, which was completely saturated. That towel didn’t have a chance. You guys. I’m not exaggerating, though I realize I tend to embellish my stories now and again (it’s more fun that way). A literal PUDDLE of his sweat. I mean, we’re all sweating in there, but this guy was internally combusting.

At one point, we have to lay down (well, that happens a lot, actually) and his sweat-soaked head touched my hand towel. Oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god! I had to force myself not to scream, while my face must’ve looked like this. His sweat. Was ON. MY. Towel. Come on! I bring my own towels to deal with my own sweatiness. It’s not my problem that he should clearly be doing yoga in a wading pool.

Anyway. At the end of class, after savasana, this is what happened: He rolled up his mat/towel, which is not in itself odd. After all, that is what one does with a yoga mat. But then, you guys. Then. He had somehow magically acquired a bucket and he lifted his mat, quickly holding the end over the bucket, so the puddle of sweat could stream/splash/sploosh into the bucket. HE WAS LITERALLY SWEATING BUCKETS. This is not normal.

Just for the record, I talked to Peter as I left and when he asked about my background, I confessed I was an Ashtangi and an instructor. He said that made sense and that he loves Ashtanga. We talked a little about how we both think it’s good to mix up yoga and keep an open mind. What a good hot yoga teacher!