A Story Requested by Mom

Chad and I have been prioritizing exercising lately, and yesterday morning it was my turn to go while he watched Tate. So, I thought I'd try this special $29 unlimited month pass at the Bikram Yoga studio down the street. Did I know what Bikram was? Oh, no. Nor did I care. I imagined it would be similar to my lovely yoga class in New Orleans where we chanted, gonged, read nice poems, meditated on love and forgiveness, and then kick our own butts in unison with Sean the yogi for an hour. That's what I planned for, that's what I wanted. That's not what I got.

I arrived 15 minutes early as directed on their website and entered the building. It was a bit warm and muggy inside, but I didn't pay much mind to that. The guy at the counter happily took my $29 and pointed me to the mat, towel, and water that I would be needing. Before making my way into the studio, I haphazardly mentioned that I would have to leave a bit early from the 90 minute class, and would that be alright? Silence. Crickets chirping. Glares. A red-headed lady sitting by the window stopped her conversation and  answered, "It's really not OK to leave early. It's looked down upon." The guy at the counter just smiled and directed me to the locker room.

On the way to the locker room, I encountered what I can only describe as a rare and exotic creature. She was more gazelle than human. Over six feet tall, and absolutely no more than 100 lbs. And wearing approximately four square inches of clothing. She had sort of a vacant or perhaps enlightened look in her eyes as she sauntered past me, hip bones leading the way. I looked at my paint-stained yoga pants (yes, mom, the same ones) and stood up a little taller. I had made time for this class. My health is a priority. I would go on.

I entered the yoga studio from the back door, giving me a full view of all fifty-some odd students. Standing tall. Breathing. Staring. Lying down. Almost naked. And just wasting away. Gazelle stood in the front. The temperature of the studio was exactly 104 degrees with 40 percent humidity. Did you hear me? The temperature of the studio was exactly 104 degrees with 40 percent humidity. I laid down and waited for my punishment for making this asinine decision.

The red-headed drill sergeant entered the room and marched to the front, then leaped up on a glass podium and looked down upon her followers, a group of which I was now numbered among. "New rules in class," she announced. "First, no one leaves for 90 minutes." Gulp. Chad had to leave for an appointment in approximately 75 minutes, and I was still 15 minutes from home. "And no one takes a drink of water until Eagle Pose. Let's go." Folks, there was no gong. There was no Enya. There was no smile. Gazelle stood up and a full 12 inches stood between her two thighs. The drill sergeant looked at me and said, "You're going to want to put that towel down over your mat to catch your sweat."

We began our series of 26 poses that is apparently the hallmark of Bikram. With each inhale and exhale, the room contracted and expanded like it was occupied by a herd of dragons. Sweat dripped. Gazelle bent in half. The drill sergeant marched around the room, seething, correcting our poor attempts at executing these ancient postures. No one drank a sip. I started to feel the effects of my early coffee consumption and lack of quality hydration. Dizziness, nausea, and NO I WILL NOT SIP. Nearly naked bodies around the room stank and glistened and breathed fire through their nostrils. Deep inside my own imagination, I rolled my eyes.

Finally, about 20 minutes into this bliss, the blessed Eagle Pose arrived and I chugged my Fiji. I think I may have even let out an AHH, because the drill sergeant glared at me from atop her glass podium. Gazelle stood tall and refused water, instead staring Buddha-like at her own reflection while she awaited for the rest of us peons to finish. She probably wanted to know if I needed some animal cookies and a nap to go with that.

Sixty minutes later, while staring high into the ceiling fans while balancing on my pelvis in a mean Cobra Pose, I realized the time. I had to go. "My commitment is not to this lady, my commitment is to Chad", I vowed as I plotted my escape. "She cannot hurt me. I can leave when I choose. Just pick up your mat, Leslie. Just go." So, when everyone else was making their way into Wind Removing Pose, I scooped up my belongings and skipped towards the door. As my hand reached the doorknob, I heard "Excuse me, but won't you be able to finish the class?" All fifty starving yogis turned and stared at me. "I'm sorry," I stammered, "but I told you that I had to leave early." "I made a rule that no one could leave for 90 minutes," she said flatly. "And I told you before class that I had to leave early." "I thought that you meant like two minutes, not twenty" she snapped back. I was horrified. The 26 poses had stopped suddenly with the Watch The New Girl Squirm intermission at 65 minutes in to the class. I had nothing else to say. So, I just walked out and shut the door quietly behind me. Within seconds, the guy who used to be manning the front desk but who now was mostly naked, sweating profusely, and following me, tapped me on the shoulder. "Please exit through the back door and make sure that you close the studio door and the gate tightly so that none of the air escapes." "You got it."

I sort of obsessed about this whole experience all day yesterday. I got called out by a yoga teacher. Publicly. And I thought that I was going to yoga for peace and serenity and unconditional positive regard. It turns out that Bikram Yoga is a serious discipline that is actually copyrighted by Mr. Bikram himself. And he is quite the stickler on the length of class, the exact temperature and humidity of the room, and the poses. And each studio follows his dictates to the letter. So, for me to leave 60 minutes into would be akin to leaving in the middle of someone's poetry reading and then going "WHAT? Dude, I heard what I wanted to hear and I have to go now..." It was rude.

Tomorrow is my day to exercise again. I might join the drill sergeant and Gazelle and see if I can begin to reap the benefits of Bikram. Or, I may sleep in and then wake up to pancakes and hot coffee. We shall see.