Hot yoga. It may just do me in.

I went to my first hot yoga class today at 3pm. In the reception area, I saw an article from Oprah magazine — the heading really caught my attention: “My bra’s too tight. Is that cellulite on my biceps? I might be having a heart attack. And why does everybody in here have a tattoo?”

I could immediately relate. The bra too tight thing has really gotten on my last nerve more than almost anything else. The class was extremely hot, naturally… but it was fine for me if I stayed perfectly still. I got there early and decided to lay down and meditate… always difficult to stop my thoughts, but it feels good just trying. Ahhh… I was relaxing, this would be okay. But as soon as the class started, I knew I would soon become a puddle of out-of-shape mush. When the teacher said something about it being a 90 minute class (what?!?), I wanted to run out in sheer panic, but remained calm (on the outside) and sweaty.

Going through the positions, I started thinking, “how can I do another set of these? How many more minutes are left? Could I run out and cool off? I’m kind of bored and anxious at the same time. How many dots are in that ceiling tile? I should have brought more water. How can that girl bend like that? How many ceiling tiles are in this entire room? Did J-Lo look good in that outfit on New Year’s Eve? If they start doing full body scans at the airport, what do they see exactly? How many germs are on this floor? How many minutes are left now? Where the heck do people go to the bathroom in Times Square on New Year’s Eve??” and on and on. I could not properly do all the positions, but I did make it through the entire class. I felt like I could throw up, but I didn’t. I never had so much sweat dripping off me. But, I kept breathing… and moving… and it really did feel like an enormous accomplishment. It was the hardest exercise I had ever done in my life.

Came home, drank a half gallon of water and took two Advils. Tomorrow I am planning to go to the 10am class… if able to move and not destroyed by today’s rigorous endeavor.

Two days into the New Year brings all kinds of enthusiastic thoughts of exercise and starting fresh. The gyms are packed for the first few weeks with all of us who have had way too much food, wine, and revelry. We go into day two of the New Year with a worn-off hangover and a feeling of great hope. Though usually short-lived, I intend to make the most of it. Here are my resolutions:

1. Hot yoga, just do it and shut up about it.
2. Eat healthy. I’ve said it and done it a million times, but determined to make it stick this year.
3. Learn some leads on guitar. Love my acoustic, but time to shred like a rock star.
4. Finish writing book. Sheesh. Stop trying to make it perfect, just finish, publish, and move on.
5. Learn Italian. Just started and already feeling Italiany and very cool in a Sophia Loren sort of way.

This seems like a challenging yet reasonable list for an entire year. If the hot yoga doesn’t kill me, I think it’s doable. All in all, if I achieve nothing else but that my bra feels less tight in the year ahead, I’ll be happier. Ciao!