Sydney - Toxing and detoxing

At first, Jen looked nice enough. She had a pleasant-sounding Irish accent, a pretty face and a tight bottom, and gently told me to take it easy during the class as I was new.

But on entering the class room, everything changed. Friendly Jen turned into Scary Jen, a yoga sergeant of sorts, barking orders and directing the ‘lesson’ through sharp claps of her hands. I was hit by a wall of hot air and the faint yet omnipresent smell of sweat.

Bikram yoga, or hot yoga, aims to help its devotees develop their lung capacity through deepening their breathing. But immediately on entering the room, I found breathing near-impossible. And that was when I was standing still.

The room had been heated to over 100 degrees. Other participants were in various states of stillness but fairly similar states of perspiration. Each of us needed a towel to place over our mat, I assume to soak up the moisture flowing from our bodies. Newcomers were asked to identify themselves, and then told to go to the back of the room (to avoid us mucking everyone else up?) We started with some heavy breathing in quick repetitions. Everyone around me was making a lot of noise
breathing, and I felt quite self conscious emitting deep, coital-like exhalations.
Happily, Jen told us that we wouldn’t be able to drink our water until the end of our third series of asanas. That took about 25 minutes and by then I was desperate for a drink.

“Ok, time to have a sip of water,” called Jen. I broke into a run to reach my bottle which I’d placed on the floor near the wall, about two metres from my mat.
Jen stared at me.

“Put your water next to your mat,” she said pointedly. “When you move away it disturbs the class.”

The postures continued and by then we all resembled mini waterfalls, with visible streams of sweat falling from our bodies and our clothes drenched. I’m sure that being out until 3am drinking red wine at a seedy Darlinghurst bar would have contributed to my state, but I was feeling terribly nauseous. I was in pain. My face glowed red raw and seemed slightly swollen in the mirrors that surrounded me and my hair plastered to my head unattractively. I do yoga fairly regularly and considered myself quite capable when it came to the practise, yet felt thoroughly hopeless at this.

Feeling like I was going to faint, I took the cue from others and started skipping a few poses, lying on my mat to rest. Jen didn’t seem to mind, and continued to direct and clap. She told us it was better to stay with our mats if we were feeling ‘weird’ and to continue the class when we felt we could. That was just fine with me.

The class went for an hour and a half. I was so glad when we reached corpse pose.
Standing at the doorway, Jen declared, “Good practice. Stay with your mats and rest. NAMASTE!” and left with a flourish of her toned arm as the door swung shut.
Wanting to avoid the shower queue, I jumped up to go, but felt woozy and was forced to balance myself by holding onto the wall.

Half an hour later I was showered and eating a healthy lunch at a nearby Iku outlet, full of a sense of achievement. My skin felt amazing and I felt thoroughly cleansed and was planning my next visit. Reminded me of what they say about childbirth: as soon as its over, you forget the pain, and could do it all over again.