In an attempt to give my life a little more balance, not only did I recently start back at meditation group but I also signed up for a month’s trial of hot yoga. I went to a beginner’s class a couple of weeks ago and last night, tried a class called ‘hot yin’. I chose this class because it was described as being ideal for those wanting to relieve tension and aching muscles, which sounded perfect after a few tough sessions with Footmark this week. I walked into reception and told the instructor in what I was later aware came out in the broadest Yorkshire accent; “Hiya, I’m ere’ for hot yin”. Pablo however, whose identity was linked to far more exotic places than Yorkshire, proceeded to inform me that it was in fact “hot ccccchin” (imagine the c’s sounding like you’re gargling mouthwash and you have something like it). Alright Pablo, you already look better in leggings than I do, let’s not get off on the wrong foot here.
“This class is softer and slower allowing you to unwind by letting stress and tension melt away”…Not sure I was at the same class to be honest. In 40 degrees heat, my main concern was staying alive. Sweat was literally flowing out of me like lava. And as I was running late (for a change), I didn’t have time to take my make-up off which meant that my eyes were stinging from a combination of foundation, mascara and liquid eye liner pouring into them. Then there were the positions! Pablo suggested various movements to gently stretch out the muscles. Walking into the class, as someone who can still do a backwards walkover, I was feeling pretty confident but holy shit, some of these poses were ridiculous. I had to laugh at Pablo’s request to part my knees, roll forwards and let my stomach touch the floor, as if doing some form of the splits. Mate, my stomach feels like it’s already touching the floor without doing the splits, why the bloody hell do you think I’m here?! I want to sweat myself skinny not break a chuffin leg. At this point I was wondering why I wasn’t at home relaxing watching Bake Off like the rest of the nation.
Then there was the position where you put a block under your bum, propping you up to enable you to do full body stretches. That block did not support my arse let me tell you. Imagine sitting on a brick and then having to lie back, stretch your arms and legs out and let said brick keep this movement steady. It just wasn’t happening. That brick nearly got lost and we don’t need a brain surgeon to figure out where. We nearly needed another type of surgeon though!! Anyway, postures to one side, I came away perfectly in tact and will be going again. I actually really enjoyed it! I might think twice about where I sit though because no one needs to see themselves that closely in a mirror in some of those positions.
Feeling pleased with myself for going, the smug look on my face as I left the class was soon shattered at the smell of the most amazing Indian food I’ve inhaled. Who the f*%k puts TWO Indian restaurants next to each other and better yet, next to a bloody hot yoga venue?! I can’t get the smell of freshly baked naan out of my nose and so of course, I’m going to have to fix this craving before it consumes me. Still, at least it will mean I can keep my stomach on the floor in certain positions. Pablo will be pleased!