Hot Yoga

Beginning in October, I have been going to Bikram Hot Yoga, or Hatha Yoga as systemized by Bikram Choudry. I'm very lucky that a beautiful, large studio opened about a tenth of a mile from where I live. Addicted but not obsessed, I go three or at the most four times a week. I'd like to go more, but it's hard to drink enough water to stay hydrated between classes.

It is 26 rigorous postures in a 105 degree room with 40 percent humidity. Most of the time I just wanted to die those first few weeks and nearly quit because I thought I might not be designed to handle the heat. It took a while to get down a system of hydrating before and after (my big discovery was not to drink water during) the 90-minute workout. At some point during the last third of the class I still wonder if I'm built to deal with heat.

I've been pretty pleased with the results. I am more flexible now. My neck feels better, I haven't had a twinge of back pain since I started. Perhaps most important to me, my right ankle that I had messed up so badly three years ago seems to be finally healing properly. And I sleep well.

Why do I prefer this kind of yoga? I could make lots of aspersions about other classes I've been to over the years, that they seemed more geared to make people feel pleasant than accomplish any kind of physical/mental/spiritual breakthrough: new age music, special straps and blocks, etc. But those classes do serve their purpose, I'm sure, even if it is just to provide a nurturing environment for people who need respite.

Having acknowledged that every kind of class has its place in the world, I do appreciate that Bikram eschews all of that inner goddess crap. With Bikram all you need is a towel mat. Nothing else. Unlike the fluffier classes, Bikram provides some genuine mortification that forces you to push past pretty compelling urges to get up, throw up and flee the room. I'm not wearing monastic horse hair, but for a desk jockey it's a pretty tough experience. I lose about six pounds every time I attend.