For the love of Buddha, please try Bikram Yoga

10890648714_c47d5a59d0_bFor those that love extreme forms of torture, you must try hot Bikram yoga at the Port. It’s like yoga but snottier, and sweatier. But first, there are things you need to know.

You will be stuck in a 40 degree heated room with between 10 and 20 half naked bodies as you are forced to hold excruciating positions for years at a time. You will hear the name of every zoo animal and household pet and discover that you have unusually tight shoulders and a bone defect that prevents you from balancing on one leg.  You will feel like you are GOING TO RIP IN HALF. At one point you will have your head dangerously close to someone’s sweaty bottom and touch someone’s sweaty hand while pretending to be an aeroplane.

You will be reminded to keep your eyes open even though giant beads of sweat are gushing into your eyeballs, your ear canal and up your nostrils. It’s then that you will start to develop a sweat management strategy while fantasizing about rainbow coloured popsicles and gallons of iced water served with more ice, out of a glass made of ice. And at the end of the class, when you’re seconds away from air, you will seem to be alone in finding the Kapalabhati breathing extremely funny.

You will vow never to go back. And then, a few days later a funny thing will happen. You will want to go back. Again and again and again.

You’ll start craving that toxin clearing awesomeness and before you know it, you’ll feel powerful and ommm and be staring dandayamana-bibhaktapada-janushirasana in the face. You’ll feel muscles within muscles, you’ll have Michelle Obama arms and you’ll find yourself locking your knees for no apparent reason and breaking into half moon in the supermarket queue. Coconut water will become your best friend and you’ll spend lunchtimes and evenings legging it up boulevard Carnot for more sweaty, slippery spiritual enlightenment.

Your life will never be the same again. In a good way.

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