Bikram Yoga is one of those things I had always fancied doing but never got around to – until last summer.
My sister was getting married in July and, as bridesmaid, I wanted not only to fit into my dress, but to look good in it. And so the ‘lifestyle change’ began. I had taken up TRX earlier in the year and loved it but I wanted to kick my training up a gear. I had heard great things about Bikram Yoga and my sister raved about it, so I signed myself up for a month of classes.
I realised, however, just how far my fantasies were from reality at the very first class…
Fantasy:
A warm room filled with wafting incense and soothing music.
Reality:
A room akin to an oven with a lurid stench of stale gym gear.
Fantasy:
A super-zen instructor with a relaxing voice giving us gentle direction.
Reality:
A hyperactive American drill sergeant screaming strange words.
Fantasy:
A whole hour and a half to myself to relax and work out-bliss.
Reality:
“90 minutes? How can this torture continue for 90 minutes? How long has passed? 15 minutes? Noooo! Can I just leave now?”
Fantasy:
Posing like a pro – the heat makes you more flexible after all.
Reality:
Realising you have the flexibility of an 80-year-old and can only make about half of the poses, poorly.
Fantasy:
Finishing the class feeling relaxed yet energised.
Reality:
Leave the class stressed out and angry that you’ve spent so much time slipping around in a pool of your own sweat.
Fantasy:
Already looking forward to your next class.
Reality:
Despite the messages from every fibre of your being, you kind of want to give it another shot.
