Yoga

One day I decided to spend 90 minutes in a room that was hotter than the desert. On purpose. And pay for it.

This activity was inspired by my co-worker at the newspaper, who wrote a series in which readers challenged him to try new experiences. His list of challenges included playing high school football, dressing up like a team mascot and driving a boat at a fancy resort. Also on that list? A Bikram yoga class.

I don’t remember my friend’s impressions of the class or the resulting article. All I know was that he didn’t die. And that was really important to someone like me, who wasn’t very athletic and thought Bikram was only for hardcore yogis.

After his experience, some of my other co-workers decided to go too — and when they asked me to join them, I immediately said yes. It’s like when your parents challenge you with, “Well if everybody else jumps off a bridge, would you?” Yes. The answer is yes. If everybody else does yoga for 90 minutes in a humid, 105-degree room, I will do it too. I like to be a part of things, even when that thing is sweaty, uncomfortable and certain to give me inner-thigh chub rub.

The studio was situated in a gritty strip mall. Inside it was dim and dank. The mirrors on every wall oozed with condensation.

It was surreal to walk inside a building that was hotter and more humid than the 100-degree desert day outside. The air was immediately suffocating. It tasted damp and hairy, like someone shoved a wool mitten down my throat.

The teacher enjoyed being nude, so she often shed her clothes outside class. Although I’m in the “every body is beautiful” camp, it made me a little uncomfortable to hand over my credit card to a naked woman. In that way, I am a prude.

Unlike many types of yoga, which can vary depending on the studio, teacher and students, Bikram classes are very strict and uniform. There are 26 postures and two breathing exercises. Each pose is done in a specific order, and teachers are never supposed to stray from that 90-minute routine.

This teacher’s instruction was the opposite of every yoga class I’ve ever taken: She said to push beyond our limits, be uncomfortable, make it painful.

Humiliation was another part of her repertoire. She mocked the co-worker who inspired the rest of us, saying, “Corpse pose is the only pose he can do. Get it? Because he is so lazy and out of shape!” She made fun of me and said my enormous body would get in the way of ever doing yoga properly. At one point, she swiftly kicked me in the legs when she said my knees weren’t locked enough.

A week later she called me on my cell phone to complain about my co-worker. I told her I didn’t appreciate the call and that it wasn’t professional to berate her students — especially to other students. In return, she told me I was fat.

And yes, I paid $20 for all that.

Now, many years later, I have a new job. And a new co-worker. And when she said, “Hey, do you want to go to this Bikram class with me?” I immediately said yes. Part of it was that I wanted to be That Girl — the girl who dashes off to yoga class after work with her fun, bouncy colleague. And then part of it was a mental hiccup. I kinda forgot what the class entailed. I only brought a teeny-weenie towel and a small bottle of water, completely forgetting that this scenario will make me sweat buckets and could potentially give me heat stroke.

But do you want to know the biggest reason I showed up on that mat that day? Because I couldn’t let one horrible teacher to define an entire type of yoga for me. This is my body, and this is my yoga practice. When I determine my feelings about Bikram, I want it to be because I gave it a fair shot.

So my co-worker and I went to a studio that was completely different than the place I went before. It was clean. The instructor wore clothes. I was only chastised once — when I left class to refill my small bottle of water.

And you know what? I STILL didn’t enjoy the Bikram class. I like asanas that are more flowy, like physical meditation. I like yoga that feels like an accomplishment, not a punishment. I turn to the mat to nurture my body, not torture it.

I know plenty of people who embrace Bikram, who feel rejuvenated by the classes, who are energized by the heat and the postures, but I am not one of them — and that’s OK. Not all styles of yoga are suitable for every body.

But I’m proud of myself for trying. For opening myself up again. And for deciding that if I can’t take the heat, stay out of the Bikram.