Feelin' Hot, Hot, Hot!

Has anyone else noticed how fast weekends go? Sorry, that's a silly question. It just feels like Friday was literally two seconds ago -- and here I am with the Sunday night "pit". Which is weird in itself, too. By no means do I dislike my job. On the contrary; in fact, the past few Fridays I've found myself disappointed that the week has to come to an end and that I won't see my students again until Monday.

Regardless, I should stop complaining. My dinosaur-sized goal for 2011 is to enjoy and love every single day. Too often I spend time wishing it were the weekend, Christmastime, summertime, babytime (did I say that out loud? Shh! Don't tell), anytime but the present. And what a silly waste of time it is to spend my moments wishing for a different one.

So today, rather than spending my post-Church, Culver's, grocery store Sunday afternoon parked on our near-perfect micro suede couch with hubby's freshman-year laptop warming my thighs, I decided I'd do something different.

How different?

Very different.

As I've mentioned before, pilates is something I really enjoy. However, over the summer the hubs and I moved home due to summer jobs. The Y at home didn't have pilates at a good time for me... but they did have yoga. Luckily I'm not so serious about pilates that I felt yoga couldn't fill the void that pilates was leaving in my abs. So I hopped on the yoga train for the summer! And when we moved back to our former (and current) location, I switched back to pilates.

Tomatoes/tomatos, pilates/yoga, whatevs. All I know is they both help me relax and they apparently make muscles long and lean.

So anyway, unfortunately this new women's gym I joined doesn't offer either at a great time for me -- except for early Sunday afternoons. Now, as a general rule of thumb, I refuse to step foot in a gym A) more than four times per week and B) on the weekends. However, this yoga they're offering on Sundays is a special kind of yoga -- "hot yoga" to be exact. And hot yoga is literally just that -- you go in this room and they turn on space heaters to make the room a ridiculous temperature to do down dog in.

Which sounded entirely unappealing the first time I heard about it.

But then my city landed itself in the midst of an ice age with -30 degree wind chills. And I can't make it to somewhere tropical anytime soon, so why not go to a steamy yoga room with 25 women?

So hubby was extra kind and agreed to chauffeur me to and from the gym. And I found myself on a cushy blue mat in the front row where everyone could watch my sweaty-like-a-pig reflection.

Apparently it wasn't quite as toasty as usual in there, but it was definitely sauna-esque. Prior to beginning, the instructor asked us to think of an "intention" for our yoga practice today.

Beh?

An 'intention' for my one hour of yoga?

Sorry lady, but I only say prayers for intentions. And I don't think yoga is a form of prayer. At least, not in my own personal book.

And then the weirdest thing happened.

So we're supposed to be all solemn and thinking of who we're "offering" our yoga for today and the instructor turns on some 80s music.

Wait, wait... what? You mean we're supposed to be all spiritual-like and let our toxins be released via sweating while "Tainted Love" plays in the background?

A slow, smart-alec smile spread across my face as I tried not to giggle. Note to self: hot yoga is no place to smile. This is serious business, apparently. Everyone else around me had their eyes close and were totally getting their "chi" on... whatever that means.

As the hour went by, 80s tune after 80s tune played on (yes, no lie: a full hour of all the best 80s hits... including "Jesse's Girl" slowed down and turned into a ballad. HA!) and my typically greasy face turned into an oil slick. Luckily everyone's eyes were closed or they probably would've been blinded by the light reflecting off my T-zone, so it worked out.

But all sarcasm aside, the hour was incredibly relaxing. And it didn't at all feel like a workout -- that's what I like about yoga. Not that you don't work hard (because believe me, that perspiring wasn't just from the heat), but it's just not something you keep looking at the clock thinking, "When will this death march be over?"

Plus, the last thing you do in a yoga class is "final relaxation" -- here, you find a 'pose' that's most comfortable for you and you just lie there. Today I think we did this for a good ten minutes, which was a very welcome thing because our upstairs neighbors had us up for a few hours at 3:00 a.m. (yes, inconsiderate neighbor, we could hear you drumming away to Weezer loud and clear. Darn you, Wii Rock Band!). I'm pretty sure I even fell asleep for awhile in final relaxation today.

Unfortunately, I was jolted back to reality by what sounded like an electric pencil sharpener. And in my half-sleep state, it made me deliriously think I was in my classroom with one of my students getting up mid-language arts lesson to sharpen their pencil. Luckily I grasped reality before probing the woman next to me with the question, "can you share with us when pencils should be sharpened?" in my best teacher voice.

Shortly thereafter, adult nap-time (er, "final relaxation") wrapped up and back into the frigid temperatures I went.

Until next week, that is.

Yep, you heard me right. I think hot yoga and I are friends.

Assuming I can move beyond the awful music, of course :)