Hot yoga
I’m pretty sure today was my last day of hot yoga. I bought a punch card for ten visits when my usual yoga classes were unavailable, after the Y fire. And today was number ten. I’m not buying another anytime soon.
I never really could come to terms with the amount of sweat in that studio — my own (a shocking, unprecedented amount) and everyone else’s (slipping and sliding in someone else’s perspiration on the floor, after class? Having someone else’s sweat drip onto my water bottle? Thanks anyway).
Being the fairly social animal I am, though, what I liked about the place — aside from the yoga itself (top-notch instruction, really) — was running into all the people I know. It’s a small town, and hot yoga is hot stuff. There have been some sessions when I’ve known eight or nine of the other yoginis in the studio.
Today it was just two: Sasha, a Wondertimer, and Jodi, mom of one of Lila’s classmates. This meant I started out the session with fresh discussions of job searches and classroom dynamics on my mind. Clearing out all the fluff in my brain is not my strongest skill. I’m not the best at being here now; I’m too busy being wherever it is I need to be next, or finishing up wherever I’ve just been. As I’m twisting into triangles or contorting into eagle poses, my mind is pretty much anywhere else it wants to be.
An hour and a half later, the yoga class ended with me in a sweaty heap on the floor, and my mind had wandered off on random topics, one of which was the desire to go do a little shopping.
Which is why I ended up at Goodwill early this afternoon, buying a leather jacket with generous fake-fur trim, and now I’m wondering if it was a yoga-induced haze that led me to think this was a reasonable purchase. Too young? Too retro? Too…too? Not sure.
Will think about it as I wear it to my cool yoga classes at the Y.
