Hot As...

I like to tell people I left DC because I hate sweating. This reason is 100% true in that I hate sweating and that I really hated DC for making me sweat so much. However it has nothing to with my actual depaurture. It does, however, make me LOVE San Francisco. Since I've been here, I think I've only un-voluntarily sweat once. It was that one freak day we had that was sunny and 86 degrees and I had to move my car and walk up and down 14 hills in the process. I didn't exactly sweat though. As Eleanor would say, I misted.

All that changed on Wednesday night, when I officially took my first real Bikram class. I'm more of a Vinyasa/Ashtanga fan. Bikram kind of... well, it's miserable as bloody hell. I never enjoyed breathing through the pain of my yoga. I'd still be a ballerina if hurting myself was a positive experience for me. But alas, I found myself there for the first time on Wednesday, and again on Thursday, and well, I kind of liked it.

The studio is very... CALI. When I first stopped by to pick up a schedule, I was greeted by a very muscular-bleech blonde-rubber-brown-tanned man folding towels in little shorts and a muscle shirt. He grinned and said, "Dude - have you DONE this? You gotta TRY it, MAN." On the East Coast, I'd be 100% positive this guy was stoned. Here, I'm pretty sure he's just high on yoga. I'm lying. He was stoned. Totally.

So on Wednesday night, wearing yoga pants and my maroon spaghetti strapped leotard, my favorite remnant of the ballerina days, I ventured the seven blocks to Funky Door. This outfit is tight and rather skimpy, but seriously, I have never felt so DC conservative. Once I arrived at class and set up my mat and towels, I realized I was surrounded by Yogis in Speedos. And they were all men. And they were more waxed than I am.

8 minutes into the class and I was ready for a water break. I would not receive it for another 15 minutes or so. After 30 minutes, I had more boob, back, and forearm sweat than I have ever had in my life. With the exception of Day 8 of The (Last) 12 Days of DC when I challenged - and schooled - Arturo in The Dance Off to End All Dance Offs at Saint Ex. So no, it wasn't that long ago since I was this nasty. But this time it actually felt good.

So, Bikram is intense. And it still does effing hurt. But the pain feels good, too. And it's good to intensely stretch again. I've never been as skinny as the other dancers, but I was always more flexible. I still am. I found my continued ability to fold myself in every which way possible pretty incredible. And as I've mentioned countless times before, I'm adept at sweating. Bikram Class #1 proved that despite leaving DC, I am still an effing expert at executing this bodily cooling process. However, the best part of Bikram Class #1 was watching Amazing Yogi Man in the puple Speedo. Did you know that penises sweat? They DO. I (involuntarily) watched him do his Dandayamana Bibhaktapada Paschimottanasana, and I am not shitting you, it looked like he was taking a piss.

So I have come to find new respect for the phrase HOT AS BALLS. I promise to use it sparingly heretofore.

Namaste.