I came, I did, and I want to come back.
I went to my first hot yoga class after nearly talking myself out it on the way. My bus passes my neighbourhood before taking me to my class. I nearly wanted to pull the cord, literally, on the evening. In fact, I wanted to get off and go to Dairy Queen to have ice cream. I didn’t want the tasty treat to eat the tasty treat.
I wanted to hide.
I feared fainting from the heat, being the biggest person in the studio, and generally making a fool out of myself. I did yoga before, but this involved a different setting. As soon as my brain began to make plans bail on the class, the other side of me knew what went on.
“Wait a minute, this is fear” the inner voice calmly stated.
I reminded myself this is the recommended class for people not familiar with hot yoga. I already knew some of the postures, some of the modifications, and I am not who people call shy regarding questions. The bus passed my stop and kept going.
At the studio I changed my clothes and waited. I finished my water and refilled my bottle for the class. Once the studio was ready, I went into the heated room to pick out my spot. It was hot and I noticed my breathing increased in speed. I put out my mat, the towel, and sat down to get a hold of my breathing. Once the breathing was under control, I inventoried my body regarding the heat while waiting for the instructor to arrive.
The instructor walked in to welcome the class, gave intentions to an instructor writing an exam, gave the usual instructions about not overdoing poses and guzzling water. It’s the usual practical stuff in a setting like this except for a new one-to let go of our stories. We come with our stories, I recall her saying, and she asked us what story needs to go. It’s not one of those go-around-and-answer sorts of questions, just the kind that sits and goes ‘well?’
It’s a good question to ponder as I went through the poses, even that troublesome tree pose, and remained in baby cobra while the class went ahead. According to my instructor it’s the smart thing to do. I have two more classes booked on my introductory pass, same class, more tree poses and I actually look forward to it. Regarding what story I needed to let go, it’s the same one hinted on many posts about perfectionism and doubts.
What about the heat?
I think my attitude regarding sweat changed a little. It’s not like I welcome feeling icky, but it’s the body’s way of cooling down and my body did cool a bit after dripping on my towel and even saw rivulets down my ankle. Remember one time people had to head over to an ashram in India. In Winnipeg the studio can turn off the heat, something they do for their prenatal classes. Over in India no off switch on the heat.
The days I talk myself into a work out, be it running or yoga, usually turn out as the best days. Call it synchronicity, coincidence, or providence things converged to simple do it and sweat it out. The next time butterflies flutter and the little voice debate the merits of changing into pajamas, ask if it’s a needed time off, or a last-ditch attempt to cling to old habits.
What’s your story to sweat out?
2 thoughts on “Sweating Out the Stories”