There's a fine line between determination and stupidity.
My adventures in Bikram yoga (or as my uber-witty little sister refers to it, 'hot (as hell) yoga') illustrate this point quite aptly. Two sessions into my mini-membership, I'm totally convinced this is something I can do. My body, on the other hand, is not. It continually reminds me, 'Hey idiot, remember grade school? You couldn't even reach the ruler in the sit-and-reach...what the hell are we doing here again?'.
Last evening, nevertheless, I schlepped my hind parts into the 105-degree heated room once more, totally determined to complete every pose with style and grace. Just remaining in the room for the full 90 minutes was no longer good enough for me. That goal is for amateurs, I tell myself. Just focus, breathe, feel the energy.
Little did I know that Mary Lou Retton would be gracing us with her presence. Okay, it wasn't Mary Lou, but she was very bendy. In fact, she might be the bendiest person I've ever seen first-hand. She was poetry in motion. Her Floor Bow Pulling Pose was beyond my comprehension. From what I can gather, the goal of this position is to balance your entire body on your belly button. For the love of all things sacred, she contorted her body into the shape of a 'U' like it was her job. No joke.
My awe of this woman only serves to spur on my determination to conquer Bikram yoga. Nevermind what my body says. Nevermind that I battle waves of nausea and black outs just to remain in the room the entire class. Nevermind that, although every ounce of reason tells me Bikram's claim that I 'will have worked every muscle, tendon, joint, ligament, internal organ, and gland' is just pure poppycock, I'm fairly certain my ascending colon is sore today. Nevermind all these things.
I'm neurotic today because...
...conquering hot yoga has squashed all trace of rational thinking.
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