Jade Lizzie

Disclaimer: I wrote this straight after a hot yoga class, with the intention of turning it into a more polished article, then decided that it would be more honest to publish it unedited… If you are offended by swearing, you should probably stop reading now. I can only blame the heat 😉

So… are there any “normal” yoga classes here? No? Hot yoga it is then.

The studio seems to have been designed in homage to an early nineties Eastern European dance club. It’s all disco lights and concrete.

Still at least the lights aren’t actually changing colour.

Oh no wait. They are.

It seems the teacher was joking when she said the studio isn’t that hot. It’s hot as fuck. I’ve still not got to grips with the Californian sense of humour.

Shit, I’ve put my mat down at the back only to discover that the back is the front. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. I need to move.

It’s far too late to move. The class is filling up and the teacher has already spotted me and given me a don’t-even-think-about-moving-now-I-have-you-in-my-sights toothy All-American grin.  Better brave this one out.

Let’s be nonchalant. I can just do a few cat-cows, a little plank. Pretend that I do yoga in the fires of hell every day.

On second thoughts, moving is bad. Need to stop moving. Move as little as possible. It’s so goddamned hot. How long would it take me to get to the door from here? It looks locked. Is it locked?

No one panic. I think I’m panicking. Is this what a panic attack feels like?

Calm, be calm. Focus on your breathing. This is what yoga is all about.

This is not what yoga is all about.  

I’m dizzy. It’s so hot. Does everyone in here have breast implants? I think they might.

Oh no wait, there’s a guy over there. He just caught my eye and smiled. I’m getting flat chest solidarity vibes from him. That’s nice.

Ok time to start. The teacher just told us that the first rule is that you aren’t allowed to leave. I’m pretty sure this time she wasn’t joking. Even Fight Club didn’t have that rule. I think I’d rather be in Fight Club right now.

The teacher just reminded us to leave our egos outside. It’s safe to say my ego left the moment it saw the wall-to-wall mirrors in here. There is no part of my body I can’t see.

I never knew my belly looked like that from the side. Weird.

Ok, focus, stop staring at the mirrors. Focus on the teacher. What the hell are we meant to be doing? She has her back to us and is talking to the mirror. Has she forgotten we’re here? Maybe I can sneak away now…

No, she hasn’t. I just got told off for looking at her. It seems we’re meant to be staring at ourselves in the mirror. Ego-less, remember?

She just told us to engage our cores “because it’s summer.” Would you not engage your core in winter? FFS.

It’s ok though, because we’re only in competition with ourselves. I’m not even paraphrasing now.

This is the strangest mixture of vanity, masochism and self-hatred I’ve ever come across.

People pay for this.

People are weird.

She keeps counting down. Just two more flows, then we’re done. Just one more pose in this sequence. Go to your edge, then hold it for 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. We’ve had more false finishes than my nerves can bear.

So. Much. Sweat. There are puddles of water around my mat. Everywhere I touch turns to sweat. I didn’t know there was so much water in my body.

The woman next to me doesn’t seem to be sweating at all.

She is mostly lying down though. I don’t blame her.

She looks very still. I hope she’s breathing.

I’d do anything for a cold beer right now.

Or a gin and tonic.

A pint of gin and tonic.

With ice.

Mmmm ice.

I don’t think there’s anyone in the world I would not marry if they brought me a pint of iced gin and tonic.

Maybe Trump. I probably wouldn’t marry Trump.

Actually I probably would.

I really do want a gin and tonic.

I am never going to hot yoga again.

I think it’s close to the end.

No one seems to be doing anything anymore. They’re mostly wiping themselves with towels and wincing in the mirrors.

Oh no, 3 more poses.

2 more.

Final pose.

If we want to do anything else we can.

I think I’m good.

Savasana.

Thank fuck for that.

She just told us that our future selves will thank us for this. I doubt that very much.