Let me start from the beginning...of 2011 that is. I had been quite happy cohabiting with my big brother for most of the last decade until he recently discovered the wonderful comforts of true love and decided to get married. That ended my cozy existence and I, at the tender age of 27 was thrust into the unforgiving world of apartment hunting, paying rent and bills (in full!) and being responsible for self. I would have gladly gone back to my mother's house until she boldly announced that my old bedroom is now an extension of her closet and the fact that I had to stay in Baltimore and fininsh my grad degree didn't help either.
After weeks of hunting, I finally found a box-sized studio apartment in a lovely historic downtown neighborhood that I could afford . Apart from the fact that this place has no closet space to speak of it is actually quite cute and cozy, big enough for my chubster ass, my books, bakers rack and squsihy. We are for the most part, happy.
After weeks of exploring my neighborhood I got quickly accustomed to frequenting tiny bistros that are always willing to cater to poor college students on a budget. I may have many financial limitations but I eat like a king and that unfortunately is where my problems start. Last week, as I was sitting on the patio of my fav french bistro devouring the last mouthfuls of a wonderful chocolate souffle I noticed something pretty weird. One was that my pudge was getting noticeably bigger, the other was that everyone who went past me was totally svelte, good looking and in their work out gear. Most were totting yoga mats and the rest were in full throttle getting the benefits of a nice afternoon run. I on the other hand was looking at the menu considering what dessert I was going to take home. I settled on a nice fruit tart (isn't it semi-healthy?) and shamefully carried my prize home as throngs of workout freaks whizzed past me in heir tiny biker shorts and overpriced sneakers.
As fate my have it, a couple of days later I got an email reminding me of some bikram yoga classes I had paid for and never attended. Deciding that the universe was trying to tell me something I woke up early the next day, grabbed my yoga mat, a water bottle and extra towels. I was ready for bikram.Now for those that don't know, Bikram yoga classes run exactly 90 minutes and consist of a set series of 26 postures and 2 breathing exercises. That's sounds great...the only problem is that the room is heated to 105°F (≈ 40.6°C) with a humidity of 40%. What can I say...the brochure put it in a much nicer way.
So there I was, draped in my mismatched yoga outfit, with my oversize tummy peeking out at the bottom in a room full of match-stick like blondes and their minute shorts. The instructor walks in and starts immediately...Sheila...where's Sheila? Scared...I raise my hand. Everyone's eyes quickly settle on me at the back of the room. "Thank you for coming to bikram. I understand that this is your first class. I recommend that you start slowly... by watching others to learn the postures. Please remember to hydrate often and take breaks when needed. I only ask that you do not leave the room as this disrupts others in their practice." I nodded. In the back of my mind I'm thinking...Don't leave the room? It's a 100 degrees in here! There is a high probability that I could die. I could just imagine the number of jokes that would erupt at my funeral.My family never passes up such opportunities. Panic sets in and I start praying. "Dear God, please help me get through this. I don't want do die in a hot sweaty room full of people I don't know.All I wanted to do was to get some exercise and be somewhat healthy." Damn you social ecological theory!
So the class begins and there I am at the back of the class sweating buckets trying to keep up. Bikram is intense and it doesn't help that you are wet most of the time...sweat trickles down every crack and crevice. The heat is relentless and unforgiving. Half way through I was near death...praying for the end to come. The only thing I could hear is don't close your eyes or you'll pass out. So the words don't pass out kept ringing in my head. I kept going and salvation finally came. I have never run out of a class so fast and have never appreciated a cool breeze as much as I did on that day. It was like one of those movie scenes when everything clicks and all you hear is a cool soundtrack piece like this one. Despite the near death experience,the adrenaline rush was so freaking awesome I went back the next day and the one after that.Some people think that I'm an utterly stupid and insane masochist but I've never felt better.
I was reading through my older blog posts a couple of days back and I was thinking about how much I've changed as a person and a writer. When I was 21 life was all about excess, the pursuit of sex and love in many variations. It's funny how my life is now about different ideas and forms of expression. I'm celibate (by choice) and I'm learning to find adventure and peace in the oddest of places. I also find myself looking for God in everything. I pray a lot and I try to read the Bible everyday. I have a weird love for poetry and it turns out some of the best poetic verses are in the bible. Who knew?
I have no idea what the purpose of this post is...maybe it's just a snapshot, a reminder for when I look at this page 10 years from now. But I hope that whoever reads this gets the oomph to try something new or finds the desire to revisit something they once loved but lost along the way ...no matter what the repercussions.
Namaste.
