Hot Yoga

I like to try new things. I really do. In the last five years I've picked up tennis, snowboarding, violin, manicures, sewing and ceramics. Whenever someone suggests something new, more often than not I'll give it a whirl.

Tonight I gave hot yoga a whirl.

I have never felt more disgusting in my life. Disgusting in a 'good/healthy/revolting/I'm going to barf' kind of way.

The premise of hot yoga is this; shove 40 females and 3 strange (read: weird) males into a tiny room. Turn the heat on. Turn the heat up. Keep turning the heat up. Let the room fill with body heat and then, for good measure, turn the heat up a little bit more. Do yoga.

I've never really been that interested in yoga (or sweating for that matter) so what possessed me to try hot yoga I don't know. I'm not into all the other mumbo jumbo ('thank everyone for sharing their breath with you, find your inner divinity blah blah blah), my facbook brain automatically clicks *ignore* when they go into this and I think about how I can become a tiny, bendy, perfectly proportioned Asian like the girl in front of me.

But I did it. Almost all 90 minutes of it. (I had to take a break half way through because I actually thought I was going to barf and or faint - two things I rarely, if ever do). And I sweated. None of this 'girls glisten' sweating, but full on, dripping rivers down my legs and arms sweating. Droplets of sweat falling from my brow to make a satisfying splash on the linoleum. My clothing is actually wet to the point where I could wring it out.

Gross eh?

Or awesome?

I'm undecided. I always tell people to give everything three chances, and I'll probably do the same for sweaty-yoga. Wanna join me next time?