It’s 3:30pm and I’m crouched over my toilet contemplating relieving my stomach of it’s biscuits and gravy contents. I can’t decide whether a full stomach or throat sore from bile would be more unpleasant while contorting my body for 90 minutes in a crowded, 105 degree sauna. I kneel over the toilet with an “I’m going to die, aren’t I?” look on my face and after a few valiant heaves decide to keep my hands out of my throat and chug water instead. Now I’m bloated with a distended belly and I’m burping re-tastes of sausage flavored gravy. I have less than an hour before my first ever Bikram Yoga class.
I hobble down to the pool and plead with my friend, “can we show up a few minutes early? I don’t want to rush into this.”
“Of course!” She’s a Bikram instructor. She’s been to this studio plenty of times. She knows the drill. Nothing to worry about. “How are you feeling?”
It’s 4:23 and I’m throwing my four neat little piles of every piece of clothing I own across my room trying to find a clean pair of gym shorts. “We have to get going…” “Naked! Coming…”
We hike over to Bikram Yoga Santa Barbara, me wearing Crocs and a towel over my head, Nadia in a bright neon blue two piece that would look ridiculous on anyone less tan and muscular. I follow her into the studio hanging onto her pant leg with one hand, sucking my thumb on the other. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into.
The smiliest girl alive greets us at the desk. I tell her it’s a bit hot and ask if she’d mind turning down the heat a little but no one laughs or hears me mumbling to myself while I look around in wide-eyed confusion. The last time I saw this many framed pictures of a half-naked contortionist…
I pay $20 for a trial week of unlimited visits and Nadia takes my green mat and small white towels, opens a sliding glass door and disappears behind a white curtain. I wander around in a daze, admiring the pile of stacks of mats on the balcony and the pile of sandals by the sliding glass door which I open and am nearly knocked on my ass by the most ridiculous indoor climate one man could have ever imagined. This tops the night in Florida on my high school cross country team’s field trip to Disney World when Steve encouraged me to max the heat in our hotel room for giggles. No, wait, this is worse than the night in Chicago when my high school friends and I sat huddled in our hotel sauna, passing a bottle of vodka we’d managed to bribe a homeless man into buying for us, challenging each other to stay in for as long as possible. We lasted about 15 minutes. I just signed up for 90.
I can’t find my mat. Where is Nadia? I can’t breathe. I’m out of here… Smiley desk lady asks me where I’m going, please go back inside. I try to explain that I can’t find my mat and… She leads me to the door and points to a green mat in the back with a white towel on top and a neatly folded towel by its side. Great, thanks.
The lights are out but it’s not especially difficult to step around the scattered bodies to get to my mat. Not sweating on them is impossible. I glance around and quickly asess the most common location for placing water and towels and mimic with my 4L jug of water which ends up next to my folded towel at the back of my mat. I ignore the fact that I’ve gotten dizzy twice in the last 15 seconds, smile and take a seat in the center of the towel on my mat.
The room is rectangular, 100 feet long mirrored wall and two 40 foot mirrored side walls. I count 40 students of varied age, gender and size, each preparing for battle with routines rivaling Nomar Garciapara’s batting glove shtick. Nadia comes through the sliding door and sets up on a purple mat forward and to my right. Super smiley desk lady enters the room, shuts the sliding door, turns on the lights and makes her way to the front of the room. She introduces herself as Juliana and announces that class will begin, annunciating every word clearly through her persistent smile. She quickly begins barking out orders.
Let The Games Begin
Stand in the center of your mat, feet together, arms by your sides. Clasp your hands and glue them under your chin. Keep your elbows together and lift, relax your shoulders. Now keep your hands to your chin, lift your elbows to the ceiling, drop your head back and inhale while you bring your elbows together. Push your head back, further, look at the wall behind you, your arms should be parallel to the floor. Push your head back further, push, push…
After several times pushing my head back further I’m convinced this can’t possibly be healthy, but what the hell I’m not going to survive the class. Juliana instructs us to now come forward, exhale, and I’m startled by a chorus of “haaaaah” that’s powerful and haunting and reinforces my suspicions that I’ve finally stumbled upon a cult of masochists posing as health nuts. Have I died and gone to heaven? No, it’s still hotter than hell and my neck feels like it needs to be put back together.
In Bikram we do everything twice. Again!
After the breathing exercise and the first few poses I’m doing fairly well. I can’t really do any of the poses and I feel like passing out, but I’m putting in a proud effort and I’ve forgotten entirely about the brick of biscuits and gravy in my gut. Apparently we’re not allowed to look at anyone else so I’m stuck staring in the mirror at my own shaky sweaty mess, sneaking peaks of Nadia’s ridiculously impressive performance whenever my head isn’t twisted upside down backwards and twice around my left calf in omg-ouch-asana.
After omg-ouch-asana I take a drink of water and after another few poses the drill sergeant tells us we’re done with the warm up. The warm up? Then she tells me that no one is allowed to drink water until after the warm up, but since it’s my first time she’ll allow it. Allow it? I can barely move so if she felt like not allowing something I’m sure she could manage.
After about 5 seconds for water break Juliana continues. I decide it’s a good time to lie down and try not to die.
While on my back I hear something about “don’t close your eyes” but I’m too busy trying to see clearly I don’t notice. My world is spinning and I feel like I’m going to be sick but the biscuits and gravy can’t figure out how to climb out the desert that is my throat. Somehow all of my water is on the outside of my body, except the pressure cooker that is my bladder.
I estimate we’re about 20 minutes into the class which leaves 70 minutes of relentless heat and humidity to contend with. I literally spend the rest of class on my back wondering how lying down could possibly be so tiring. My thoughts are consumed by the terror that Smiles isn’t going to let me leave the room. I can’t decide whether I should stop drinking water and die or continue drinking water and pee my pants. The furthest my mind manages to drift from the oppressive heat, physical exhaustion and swelling bladder, is to Nadia’s story from the night before about her friend’s first time Bikram experience and the paramedics that scooped up one of the bodies while class continued unaffected.
I hear Smiles say something about “if you feel dizzy or light-headed it’s nothing to worry about, it’s normal” and I hang on for dear life feeling dizzy, light-headed and anything but normal.
I’m not a novelist by any stretch of the imagination else I would write another 10,000 words attempting to explain how endlessly, relentlessly painful and exhausting this experience is. During the last 70 minutes I manage to get from lying down to my knees several times to watch Nadia throw right angle half moons and standing bow pulling pose and a mess of other picture-perfect Asanas. In the amount of time it takes my jaw to drop each time I collapse back onto my mat and wrestle my carcass into dead body pose which I’m getting pretty damn good at.
The remaining hour of class is a painful blur and there’s not much to report except that I’m pretty sure everyone else in the room is doing yoga while I’m trying not to die. I manage to get to my knees for our final breathing exercise which turns out to be hyperventilating, just in case you haven’t passed out yet.
I was overcome with elation as I stood over the Bikram toilet, finally draining my bladder, newly detached head resting back on my tail bone, jaw gaping smiling and giggling stupid, shivering in the frigid 85 degree bathroom air. I stumbled out onto the porch to reflect in awe with the gaggle of survivors who all seemed more alive than myself. Congratulations and names were exchanged between gulps of ice water and sighs of appreciated freedoms. These people do this every day.
I survived all 90 minutes in the room, surely something to be proud of and a necessary first step on my quest to dethrone the infamous Bikram Choudhury. This was the most challenging 90 minutes of my life. I encourage every man woman and child to try Bikram Yoga before they die.
Special Thanks
1. Bikram Choudhury, father of Bikram Yoga, for nearly killing me.
2. Nadia Lehmejian, Bikram Yoga siren, for nearly killing me.
3. Juliana, Bikram Yoga devirginizer, for smiling while nearly killing me.
Admissions
1. Bulimia is not a healthy choice.
2. Nadia and Juliana are nothing but wonderful.
3. Bikram, I’m not so sure.
4. I was harmed in the making of this article.
5. 12 hours later I was back for more.
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