Hot Yoga Fail!

Four days before I started my new job, I fell down the stairs and my ankle snapped in half (not really but let me be dramatic). This meant I needed to brainstorm different exercise modalities, due to not being able to run or spin for a month or so. I ended up doing a trial period at a yoga studio in Brookline, and naturally the only classes offered at 6am were hot yoga. I figured I’d be fine with it and went to try it, despite disliking yoga. I brought my $12 Target mat and went to the studio one Tuesday morning at 5:55AM. Of course, everyone there was a yogi, and I failed to bring a towel or use my brain to think about what hot yoga would consist of.

Let me set the scene for you. The class begins and immediately it feels like I’m in the Sahara Desert after 2 weeks with no water. It smells like feet and it’s impossible to breath. Meanwhile a woman is telling me to do a warrior pose, downward dog, and all these outrageous moves. I'm already panting. All while trying to not slip off my mat? Hard. Pass. A man behind me is moaning loudly as he stretches into some absurd pose. I’m looking around hoping someone feels the same sense of dread of “what have I done.” But no—they all have their legs behind their head like they’re a circus act. I still have no sweat towel and am now sliding all over like it's a Slip N Slide. Now enter nausea! I took frequent water breaks and waited for my nausea to subside as I was wildly dehydrated. Kiss. The class went by excruciatingly slow but somehow, I survived. I left feeling like I had participated in trench warfare rather than yoga. I also felt like I needed to visit a medical tent to be nursed back to health. I rotted at work the rest of the day- and vowed to never return.

Despite this, two weeks later I quickly forgot my experience and how miserable this hot yoga was. I decided to return to a 6am class, this time with a new instructor. I had purchased a new mat from Amazon that is about 7 inches thick and was supposed to be grippier for my sweaty hammer toes. I hesitantly showed up to class, again forgetting my sweat towel! The class began, and immediately the temperature rose to about 900 degrees Fahrenheit. Wild right? I was dying of sweat and again, the women next to me are in their tree poses with one leg wrapped around their heads.

Meanwhile, I’m death glaring around the room and slowly dying in the heat, but thankfully this class was slower than the first. I had more time to stretch and not vomit on my mat which was sweet of the instructor. It still smelled like toes, but I had the distraction of the hot man next to me. I took the water breaks and prayed for no heat stroke throughout the rest of class. Finally, in the last three minutes the instructor opened the doors, and I quickly fled the scene. Gasping for air as I breathed clean, open air again.

Needless to say, I am so set on hot yoga for the rest of my life. Props to anyone who finds joy in this torturous workout, but I’ll be living my life outside that studio. Perhaps one day I’ll try regular yoga, but for now count me out of the upward/downward dog world.

Kiss for literally only me,

Charty

PS- The yoga studio continues to email me begging for my presence to return (who knows why), but they call me Caroline. Like come on.