Don't "sweat" the small stuff...unless it's Bikram Yoga, then sweat til' you drop dead. Like me.

Friday found me at Bikram Yoga studio in Sugar House. A friend (mind you, a VERY in shape and athletic friend) invited me to "try" it out. It wasn't until about 1 day before our exercise date that I decided I should look it up and get an idea of what I was getting myself into. As I read aloud to Brandon what this entailed, his eyebrows continued to raise higher and higher.

1. Heated room

2. 26 poses

3. 90 minutes

couldn't be that bad.

I even woke up at 7 am Friday morning (which I try hard to NOT to do, usually) to shower, shave my legs and armpits, and comb my hair just right. I ran to Target and picked up a mat, drove to Sugar House, and pulled into the parking lot exactly 15 minutes before class started so I could register. I paid my money and listened to the instructor intently discuss things like "nausea" and "fainting", "keeping your eyes open", and "not talking when you get into the room". Yeah, yeah, I got this.

As I followed my friend into the room WHAM!!!! ... it hit me. Hard. The extreme heat, the sweaty body smell, and the all the people lying on the ground, apparently relaxed, with their eyes closed...looking as if this were just another day in paradise. Of course, there's no talking, so I decide to "follow the crowd" and unfold my mat and towel on the floor...and lay down with my eyes closed and arms sprawled to my side, trying to convince myself that I'm a total "natural".

As I lay there, tiny drops of sweat start to trickle down my forehead. Then the instructor enters, advising us to "Come alive!" I follow the others and get up on my feet, awkwardly clasping my hands together and lifting them under my chin...at least I think that's what I'm supposed to do...as we breath in through our noses and loudly out through our mouths.

As we do these "breathing exercises", the instructor comments "Looking good, Megan." Now, you know she probably had to get this comment out at the very first, because I KNOW she KNEW there was no way that comment would hold any sort of sincerity or legitimacy at the end of these painful 90 minutes...with me on the ground, literally sucking air.

I could go through my body's reaction to each of the 26 poses, but I think I'll save you the gruesome details. Let's just say, it wasn't pretty and I definitely wasn't pretty. About 15 minutes before the class ended, I'm laying on my mat like a limp noodle, sopping wet, and pleading in my head "Cooooommme ooooooon clooooock....cooomme ooooon cloooooooock!!" I couldn't even think in a straight line. I was pathetic.

After the class ended I "jumped" up and wobbled outside. When I sat down on the bench in the lobby area, my friend came "bounding" out, along with the instructor. They so graciously asked "How do you feel?" How do I explain to them, like the ever-hilarious Brian Regan, that "Everything on my inside wants to be on my outside." without feeling like a total wuss and a "Debbie Downer" to their excitement and love for this intensely insane workout? So, I just nod, quickly changing the subject to my friend's super-human ability to make this ragged exercise look easy and her natural athleticism. Hoping I have avoided the one question I didn't want to answer, I grab my bag, slip on my flip flops, and pull out my keys just as I hear "So, we'll see you again?" Looking back at the instructor and my friend, I hear "You can't give up after one try. It'll only get better."

And just like the the sissy I am...I simply say "Yeah, I guess I could give it another try..."

My body had a few words about that...all. the. way. home.

IN OTHER NEWS:

BYU vs. Wofford

Thursday, March 17th 2011

I'll be there. Will you?