Bikram Yoga Saturday

My book club's theme for August is sports and wellness. In line with the theme, the moderator arranged a yoga session for the participants to kick off the discussion, an activity which I anticipated with as much excitement as a mammogram. My body is a yoga virgin, and I wasn't sure my old bones (and muscles) could survive the trauma. It was Bikram yoga, the peculiarities of which I learned belatedly. Had I known that Bikram was conducted in a heated environment, I would have stripped down to what was morally decent by R-rated film standards and drunk more water beforehand, because 5 minutes in the room rendered me grossly dehydrated. I had the idea that yoga wasn't about running nor jumping, but I wasn't informed that even mere stretching could make me feel faint with exertion

The first posture or asana was to teach us how to breathe properly. And, I kid you not, breathing isn't as easy as it sounds, at least not the way our yogi taught us. In fact, in the succeeding asanas, I had to constantly remind myself to breathe. It was getting harder and harder and I felt lightheaded--- but sheer will and stubborn pride kept me going. The yogi was aware that most of us were first-timers; he really didn't force us to do anything we thought we couldn't ("if you can't do it, bend your knees a little..."), but he encouraged us to push ourselves a bit further than what is comfortable. After sweating away what I believe to be 30% of my body weight, I was almost ready to quit.

During the yoga session, I couldn't bring myself to say that I was enjoying it--- maybe because I could hardly breathe, much less talk. But today, waking up with muscles I didn't know I had screaming in agony, I must admit that the experience was exciting, enlightening and immensely enjoyable. I feel like all my efforts were not wasted because, as I'm sore all over, I must have effectively worked out my entire body. Though Bikram yoga is so hot, I didn't really notice nor mind it too much. I was too busy trying to keep my balance and doing the postures correctly.

And if it is true that the heat makes me more flexible, that I burn as much as 600 calories in a 90-minute workout, and that doing yoga regularly will make me taller, then it's something I'm seriously considering getting into. Besides, it's the perfect excuse to go walking around half-naked despite being miles away from the beach, without being self-conscious because all I'd really be worried about is finding my center so I won't fall flat on my face.

Stage Fright

Last Saturday, my book club had its monthly discussion where I was one of 4 moderators. I had begged my co-mods to spare me from any responsibility that involved facing the group to speak. In exchange, I volunteered to make most of the game prizes, props and loot bags (the theme was Dr. Seuss kiddie party, hence the loot bags). Even if I had to make all of these from scratch and by hand, I believed it was still less terrifying than having to speak in front of an audience.

I've always had stage fright. Back in 4th grade, I lost a Spelling Bee not because I didn't know how to spell SOVEREIGNTY but because the finals was held in an auditorium with teachers and students from four grade levels in attendance. I think I got as far as mumbling the letter "s" before I finally froze in my seat. In 6th grade, probably for the simple reason that I find unnatural and perverse pleasure in writing essays, my English teacher wrongly assumed that I was as comfortable in expressing myself verbally and, horror of horrors, entered me in an extemporaneous speech contest. My heart was bouncing off the walls of my chest and I would've popped a valium had I known what it was at that age. I was given 2 minutes to compose my thoughts after I picked my topic, which was "why I love the rain". Which I didn't. I could think of several reasons why I DON'T like it: because I find soaked socks and mud-spattered calves absolutely disgusting... because even with an umbrella, you still get soaked since rain doesn't necessarily fall at a 90 degree angle to the ground... because, in the Philippines, the same jacket that protects you from the rain drenches you in sweat underneath... because, often, rain means flooded streets and people packed like sardines in public transportation... because, almost always, during heavy rains or typhoons, classes are declared suspended AFTER the students are already in school.

Still, that was my topic. But because I have always espoused honesty(I'm a terrible liar, at any rate), I walked to the stage on jelly legs and said, " I don't like the rain." It was humiliating.

In this country, there are only 2 seasons: the Muddy and the Dusty. I prefer dusty any day.