Something New - Hot Yoga

My motto for this year is "be better". It's nice, and broad, and can cover a lot of aspects of life without too much room for error. I can either be a little bit better at something, or be loads better at it. It works on so many levels, see?

So one way I'd like to "be better", is by being a little bit healthier and trying new shit, you know, putting myself out there a bit more and seeing things from a different perspective. I did just that today, because this morning I tried hot yoga.

Usually, I scoff at yoga. My boyfriend has had to endure taunts from me about how it's all "hippy shit" and not a real work out. How it's all "ohmm-ing" and "woosah" and all that jazz. I've probably just royally pissed some of you off by saying that, but hear me out and stick with me. So, with that attitude, just how in the hell did I end up in a yoga class, I hear you ask?

Well, I have a friend to blame for that. Not just any friend, a friend that gets way too Groupon happy sometimes. Before Christmas, she got especially Groupon happy and because she knows I do Pilates, when she saw this Hot Yoga class deal, she couldn't resist and signed us up.

PAH! This would be a doddle. It's all slow, flowing, om, om, stretchy movements. I can do that. I do hardcore Pilate stretching that has toned my abs to not quite rival that of Jessica Ennins, but they're still looking damn good. And it's in the heat? No problem! I love heat. I've been to Australia. In the summer and I survived, but hey. I'm "being better" and I should give this a go and it will be a doddle anyway, right?

It wasn't.

Within the first three minutes I was sweating and having to stop to take some water and all we'd done were a couple of cobra's and a lot of downward dogging (I lost count of how much dogging we did in class today). The teacher was relentless. We were up, down, sideways warrior-ing, doing the [funky] pigeon, happy babies and there were a load of words I didn't understand, but sounded totally "woosah" and like the hippy shit I was expecting. There was no clock in there and I didn't have a watch, but the class was only meant to last an hour. It felt like we were in there a lot, lot longer.

Apart from not understanding a lot of the words coming out of the nice-teacher lady's mouth and being told to not look to see if I'm doing it right, but instead just "listen to the instructions and the flowing movement of [her] voice," after a while I did start to get the hang of it. That was only after I had the rebellious thought of, "fuck this, it's all too fast, I'm going at my own pace," and I'm pretty sure that's not the right attitude, but whatever. After I thought that, it got better, I got better and actually started to enjoy it.

I liked the breathing. Who knew that breathing in a hot room with other super sweaty people could be so chillaxing? I also liked the balancing. I was good at that and the sequences of balances we did was probably the only point in the class when I didn't look like a total beginner.

The bastard class left me feeling, what I'd like to call, 'yoga-happy'. Yes, I felt all floaty and smiley inside. It's only after I've come down off that inner-tranquillity high and had a cup of toxic coffee with extra sugar that I've been able to write this blog about how pigging irritating it is that I'm going to have to eat my previous words about yoga. It was tough. It was hot. I sweated like a bastard and couldn't keep up, but goddammit, my balancing tree-pose looked beautiful and I didn't wobble once. NOT ONCE!

And yes, if you must know, I am looking forward to next week's class and being just a little bit better than this week.