Heatwave in Seattle

by bangladeshihindu

I have a confession to make.  I am one of those women you see at the gym who reads magazines on the cardio equipment.  I have another confession.  I feel superior to other women who read magazines on the cardio equipment, because I am working on level 20 while they are usually on level 4 or 7.

I don’t necessarily think that I am a better person, just that I am getting a better workout.  And something I have discovered about reading while working out, is that once in a while I am endowed with a true ‘ah-hah’ moment.

These are rare while I am reading Hollywood gossip, and really I only read those magazines for the pictures, not the articles.  Sometimes, though, someone leaves an Oprah, or a MORE magazine at the gym and I end up reading something that actually changes me a little.  I return home with a renewed sense of purpose, an inspiration or a fresh perspective.

It was one of these moments that led me to hot yoga.  I was deep in the heart of an Oprah magazine.  “’Adventure’ doesn’t have to mean trekking through the jungle or bungee-jumping.  Being adventurous is to deliberately move outside of your comfort zone,” I read, heart-pounding, face red, and sweat pouring.

That night my girlfriend, Carlie, sent me a text.  The week before we had talked about how she did hot yoga, and how I wanted to try it.  This was the moment of truth, my moment to be adventurous.  “6 tomorrow morning.  Meet you there?”  I replied, “Sure!” before I could talk myself out of it.

So, I took my nearly 41-year-old tight hamstrings to hot yoga.

I loved it.  I loved being hot. I loved stretching myself – both literally and figuratively.  I enjoyed the low candle light and the relaxing, but very hip music (nary a whale call or a raindrop to be heard).  I thoroughly enjoyed a rhythmic and strengthening hour of Vinyasa.

Allow me to interject with the brief (and sporadic) history of “Sandy and Yoga”.

  • I can’t remember when I did my first class.  It was the 90s.
  • I had a crush on a beautiful, sexually-ambiguous Eurasian yoga instructor in Sydney, so I attended his classes each week for a whole month.
  • I do a series of sun salutations before I fly.
  • I lived with a yoga instructor, who chided me about doing weights and running, until I did a perfect jump-back from Crow to Plank, which finally shut her up.
  • I fell in love with ‘Body Balance’ classes, which combined yoga, Tai Chi and Pilates choreographed to music.  Those fed my body and my attention-span-of-a-two-year-old mind, but I moved to America where there are no Body Balance classes.
  • I did no yoga for 18 months, and became stiff and sore more frequently than stretching at the gym could combat.
  • I tried hot yoga and signed up for two months unlimited attendance.
  • I go here three times a week and I feel great.

Thank you, Carlie, for leading me on a new adventure.

I do sometimes question if I love the yoga, or the fact that it is hot in the studio.  Living in Seattle, I am rarely hot.  Showers are hot, of course, but I mean with my clothes on.  Most of the time I am focusing on ‘not being cold’, so the yoga studio offers welcome relief. Still, hot yoga is something I have always wanted to try, but never did ‘til now.

That makes it my adventure du jour.  Next is participating in a flash mob…

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