Bikram Blues

It’s 105 degrees in here, and I can’t place the smell. Somewhere between hot feet and freshly popped kettle corn. Not distractingly smelly, but enough to remind me that I’m not at the Y, and I didn’t fall asleep in the sauna. This is Bikram Yoga.

I am currently performing my favorite pose, called Savasana. Also called the "corpse" pose, Savasana is my favorite because it only requires me to lie on my back in full relaxation on my yoga mat and towel and imagine how awesome it’s going to be when I can actually make it all the way through class without a) feeling like I am going to die, or b) wishing death would release me from this yogic torture chamber.

I started coming here two months ago, at the behest of my close friend, Kellie, who said I’d like it. I guess she thought that because she knows me to be a self-loathing ex-catholic with a penchant for punishing myself in new and varying ways. That’s my best guess, anyway.
Today, because there are only a few of us in class, our instructor has elected to "practice" with us and put on an instructional CD of Bikram Choudhury himself. Bikram Choudhury is the world renowned guru of yoga, and is known as much for his eccentricities as he is for his patented style of "hot yoga."

(Normally, our instructor gives us live commands and guides us verbally through the 26 poses, but does not perform them with us. If you’ve ever experienced Bikram Yoga, you will know why no human being could talk and pose simultaneously. This ain’t no step aerobics.)

We start out with breathing exercises. Bikram says, with a sweet Indian accent, "Welcome to Bikram Yoga, 90 minutes of hell. Somebody get me a Coca Cola."

All I do is breathe deeply, and already I am sweating. In fact, just standing up from Savasana has caused several beads to form on various plains and crevices. Somebody in the room is breathing like Darth Vader, which would normally make me giggle, except I’m trying to be a good, focused little yogi and not a flibberty-gibbit. The atmosphere inside the Bikram Yoga studio, outside of stiflingly humid, is one of quiet concentration.

Next we are asked to perform a sideways bend followed by a back bend. In and of itself, the sideways bend is not a big deal. In 105-degree heat, and held for 60 seconds with locked elbows and knees, with hands clasped above the head, and wrists rod straight, the sideways bend is a form of torture utilized by war-torn third-world countries.

From the sideways bend, we go into to the backward bend, which we hold for about 20 seconds, or until I start to hear the voice of the exorcist from Poltergiest: Caroline! Don’t go into the light!

As we bend, Bikram says, auctioneer-style: Bend back, way back, go back, far back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, don’t stop, no fear, way back, far back … and release.

In Bikram, the words "release" and "change" are used to let us know we are finished with a given pose, for the moment anyway. (We perform each twice.) Release and change have shot to the top of my favorite words list with a bullet, bumping bakery, Belize, and HGTV, down to three, four, and five, respectively.

One might ask just what I’m doing here, and indeed, anyone I’ve talked to about "hot yoga" who hasn’t experienced it, does ask that. What is the attraction?

Some say they’ve lost weight. It makes sense. You lose about three pounds of sweat just walking into the place. Some say it gives them energy, and I can testify to that. After 90 minutes of Bikram, (after the initial 10 minutes wanting to vomit) I feel like I could run a marathon. Or at least tackle Cub Foods on a Saturday afternoon without wanting to ram anyone with my cart.

The biggest benefit you hear about is from the chiropractic crowd, who’ve finally found some relief after suffering from computer-induced aches and pains most of their professional lives. Bikram bends and twists the hurt out of you. Bikram says it best: You endure 90 minutes of torture to avoid 90 years of torture. I don’t plan on living another 90 years, but you get the point.

Over the next hour and a half, I proceed to stretch and move my body parts in ways I wouldn’t dare to do in 68 degrees. The philosophy is that my muscles and bones are like a Blacksmith’s metal, much more bendable when heated.

At last, we are done. I exit the studio, and 68 degrees actually feels like 30 until my body re-adjusts to room temp. In the locker room, my fellow yogis and I smile at each other knowingly, as though we are buddies from back in The Nam.

We’re an interesting bunch, standing around kibitzing over our three-dollar coconut waters. Generally, it’s an even mix of men and women, who appear to be middle or upper class folks. At an average of $12-18 per class, Bikram is an expensive addiction. And it is a bit of an addiction. It feels bad, but then it feels so good.

We will go from here in good health, knowing we have done something many couldn’t, and ready to take on whatever the world throws at us.

That is, after we’ve had a good long shower.

 

Caroline Burau is the author of Answering 911, Life in the Hot Seat. Read her blog here.


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