No Sweat

I've finally accepted that it's just not going to happen.  It is the first Sunday evening that I have ceased to delude myself that I am arising at 5.30am to get my toxic arse to a 6am Bikram yoga class.  Gone is the denim bag stuffed with two towels and a change of clothes sitting pretty by my bedroom door.  Non-existent is the two litre water bottle waiting patiently in the fridge for me to grab it on the way out the door.  I've abandoned all efforts as I can't suffer the let down caused by my own slackness any longer.  It's OK to imagine you are a more motivated person than you really are.....surely?  To be honest, after thirty eight and a half years, I should know myself better.  The only thing that gets me out of bed before 7am, is a early morning flight, or a particularly crappy job I once had in Tokyo.  I never do it by real choice.  Never.  So it really does seem strange that I'm surprised I haven't been able to get morning Bikram sessions happening this trip.

The thing is, I really like Bikram.  Actually, I semi hate it, but I do like the way it makes me feel.  After the class that is.  During it I'm like "What the fuck am I doing in here???? This is bullshit, BULLSHIT".  Maybe it doesn't actually make me feel better.  It's just that the class is so shitful, that I'm bound to feel better, just by not being in it the other twenty two and a half hours of the day.
Before my first Bikram class, I had been entertaining the notion of starting it up for quite some time.  "What's it like?" I asked a friend of mine who had recently attended her first one.  "Like giving birth in a sauna" she replied.  Having given birth (which is a totally crap activity by the way), and having hated saunas all my life (I have a mortal terror the door will become permanently jammed, and I'll go undiscovered - slowly drying out, little by little, until I'm just a little flaky pile....like fishfood), surely that description was going to put me off.  Yet no.  Like some sort of sadomasochist I was determined to suffer.  And suffer I did.

I discovered that it was indeed like giving birth in a sauna.  In more ways than one.  There's the sweating, your body contorted in ways that just can't be natural.  There's the pain and discomfort of course.  There is also the hanging out practically (or totally for some) naked in front of strangers and not caring.  There's the annoying bitch screaming at you to push harder, and breath and RELAX for fucks sake.  You feel sick, furious and tortured, and then eventually, it's over.  And the relief is orgasmic.  Later, the strange thing is that no matter how much you've hated it and suffered, you come out, forget it was heinous and happily bounce back ready to do it all again....just like all of you with more than one child.  The only thing is, you don't get an actual baby at the end.  That is a huge result in itself.

When you've pushed through those first uncomfortable sessions, it does become addictive.  I don't know why, but it really does.  You ignore the smell of rank people around you, you pretend you didn't just slip in a puddle of stranger's sweat, and you learn to deal with people's almost naked arses in your face.  Or you don't.  When I attended Bikram yoga in Byron I inadvertently, without fail, ended up behind the same guy.  Even when I thought I'd scored and he was against the wall on the other side, the teacher would change around a few people, and hey presto!  I was looking back up his actual arsehole again.   Look I get it, it's hot in there.  Forty degrees is nothing to sneer at, and I don't expect people to dress in lycra leggings.  But saggy skin coloured jocks? Was it necessary?  And then, why did they have to be so old that holes had wore into the fabric?  It was rude.  Really rude.  Buddy, at least just wear some speedos, show some respect.....

At least these are white, not holey, and a fuller brief

I also did Bikram in Israel for a few weeks.  I liked it.  This was mainly because I couldn't understand a single word of what was being said.  The constant talking is my least favourite part about Bikram.  They definitely have a script that have to follow.  I understand, it's part of the whole package.  Yet, I do get sick of hearing "Be like a Japanese ham sandwich" during the forward bends....what the hell does that mean....cheap? completely processed yet strangely delicious???  

It was also fun to see the reactions of the first timers when you were "experienced" (or in other words, stopped fainting after the Camel pose).  One poor guy once spent the entire class (apart from the first 2 minutes) in the fetal position.  At the end he couldn't even get up, he just crawled out the door.  I held it open for him.  He couldn't even answer me if I asked him if was  OK.  I wonder if he really was alright.  I never saw him again.  Maybe he died.  Some people really got the shits up and stormed out.  The teacher would always follow them out and try and coax them back in.  Once there was a full blown fight between a first time leaver and the obnoxious American teacher outside the door and down the corridor.  We could hear it all back inside the studio because she left her headset going.  The teacher went on a permanent vacation after that incident.  I think they'd been a few complaints.  She also went mental at some hippy one morning when he complained that it didn't feel that hot in the room.  Scary.  I'd say thank you to her after class, and she'd be like "Yeah, whatever.....".  The other teacher was a minuscule hippy from Tasmania, who would reply to the same thanks with "No no no no no....thank YOU Emily, what an honour it is for me to teach you".  That could have been worse, I'm not sure.  Apparently Bikram himself is quite the "character".  That's if you like billionaires, who say that every other style of yoga is bullshit, and sometimes teach their classes in their undies from a throne.

Well, all this talk about Bikram is making me want to go tomorrow.  I remember how I felt when I didn't drink wine every lunch and dinner and eat out three times a day on occasion.  But, let's be realistic, I just have to remember that I'm dealing with one of the slackest morning people on the face of the earth.  A person who wears earplugs so they don't have to hear their own alarm go off.
There's always next Monday......