Hot yoga is a trip to Mars.
You board the small little ship with mirrored walls.
The instructor walks around and makes sure everyone is properly prepared for the journey, (towel on mat, water bottle in top right corner, check, check). She is a direct captain, but easy to follow, admirable in her stance, enviable in her sixty years that look more like forty.
Then you take off on this strange journey to a world with 37% humidity, 106 degree heat, and glowing orange light.
You move like you’re wearing a space suit, everything feels slow. You concentrate to convince your body to cooperate.
You hate it, but you love it.
Then, 90 minutes later, the doors to the spaceship open back up, sun filters through the doorway, and cool air rushes in. You’re done. Swimming in sweat. Oddly fascinated. Invigorated. Ready to go drink wheatgrass shots, or better yet, Kombucha. Good thing Whole Foods is in the same parking lot. If only you weren’t so sweaty…
Day two of Bikram down. Determined to use all forty classes before my pass expires. Possible addiction forming. Must buy better gear. Yogi transformation in progress.