Tag Archives: Bikram Yoga

Why I’ll never make it as a proper yogi

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As you may have gathered from this blog, I have a taste for the alternative. Not in a weird sex way, but alternative health – cf my forays into mindfulness, yoga, autogenic therapy, etc. Although even I happily acknowledge that homeopathy is bollocks. But whenever I consider extending my commitment (training to be a teacher of aforementioned therapies, for example) I come across the same stumbling block time and again. I’m just not earnest enough.

I made it to my first Bikram yoga class today in ages, and overhearing some of the changing room conversations just left me a little deflated (and I don’t mean in a “less fat” way). There was no humour anywhere, people simply comparing various levels of self-imposed deprivation. It all seemed a bit dull. And before you think I’m coming over a bit superior, on the contrary, I feel very inferior when comparing myself to some of these people who are making very significant changes to their lives according to something they believe in.

I love the classes and the way my body and mind feel afterwards (before I reward myself the same evening with a speedy retox). But there just aren’t enough laughs in it for me to take it any further. I can do serious and earnest, but only up to a point, then I collapse in a heap of self-loathing and cynicism. And the only thing that will bring me out of it is a good book and drinks with good friends. No amount of saluting the sun or meditating on my tummy button will achieve the same effect, I’m afraid.

Although I’ve just come up with a brilliant business idea for people like me – yogic retreats in wine country, where getting arseholed on the local vintage is heartily encouraged. Anyone else up for it?

 

Running out of a recession

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I swore I would never start a blog with the words, “is it just me, or…” but I’m struggling to find an alternative here. OK, let’s try.

Maybe it’s due to the combination of my social group/age/internet buddies, but everyone I know seems to be running. I don’t just mean a gentle jog or a sprint to the nursery/train/pub when late. I mean serious running. It’s easier to say the names of people who aren’t training for a 10K run than those who are. They’re not even asking for sponsorship money or treating it as a one-off to be trained hard for and then comfortably ditched for a return to nights in front of the TV, takeaways and booze. It’s become a lifestyle choice.

I suspect the “couch to 5K” training plan may play a large part. If you can identify with one part of a fitness trend, you’re already halfway there. It’s also free. There may be some people who have binned their swanky gym membership in these straightened times and decided to maintain their fitness level on their own. Maybe they’re just talking about it more – my Twitter timeline is full of people’s running routes and times which I assume are posted automatically via the app they are using as this is not news, my friends.

I used to run in a “penance for a hangover” sort of way. I even got quite fast, although bored quickly so would never bother to keep going for more than half an hour. Then I had children and my dodgy hips, knees and pelvic floor put paid to that. I still love my Bikram yoga and go when I have a chance (about once a week) but a) it’s expensive and b) it takes a bloody long time out of the working day, meaning I have to burn the candle to get the paid stuff done.

So I am going to swallow my pride about doing something that everyone else seems to be doing (hell, I read 50 Shades for this reason so can’t imagine there’s much pride left) and give the interval training app thingy a go. If my body decides it’s not for me, I’ve given it a chance. And I feel that as the purpose of this blog is to find out things that make me feel better and improve my mood, and then share them, I have some sort of moral duty to give it a go. But as soon as one person on the street makes a comment about Forrest Gump I’m outta here…

Dante’s inferno – or How I Got a Bit of a Sweat On.

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My hands are trembling as I write this. Not from fear, or excitement, but good, old-fashioned exertion. At risk of sounding like a 14 year-old, OMG!!! I bit the bullet, ran out of excuses, and went to the Bikram yoga class. I was barked instructions by a chipper New Yorker to “bend until it hurts” in 40 degree heat. One man had a nosebleed and was told to go back, clean up and come back. This was hardcore, and I was totally unprepared.

Funnily enough, the bikini-wearing goddesses were the least of my worries. I found something suitable that covered the white and flabby bits, and soon forgot about my appearance, other than to check every five minutes that I hadn’t died.

I realize how gentle and relaxed my other yoga experiences have been. The instructor talked the language of healing, purification and detox. Though it felt like this was being achieved through ritual sacrifice. I’ve bought 10 sessions though, so I’ll be back on Thursday. If I can still walk by then.

On an unrelated note, I took T to hospital yesterday for his ENT appointment. A hearing test showed up a fair bit of fluid in the ears, but he also ticks a lot of boxes for sleep apnoea – mouth breathing, teeth grinding, snoring, waking frequently at night and daytime sleepiness. So in the next few weeks he’ll be having a sleep test, which apparently just involves a monitor for him to wear at night and see when and if he stops breathing, and for how long. If it shows a lot of obstruction, the usual treatment is to whip out the tonsils and adenoids. It seems a bit extreme as he doesn’t get tonsillitis, but apparently the sheer size of the tonsils makes breathing when lying down a bit tricky. I’d love to hear from anyone whose kids have experienced it for sleep apnoea – and if it made a difference afterwards?

“A lot of the women wear bikinis”

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Was what the woman on the end of the phone said to me, casually, as I enquired about Bikram yoga classes. BIKINIS?! I tried to muffle my panicky intake of breath with a cough. “If not a bikini, then maybe a bra top and some tight shorts”.

For the uninitiated, Bikram yoga is basically an intense yoga class performed in a very hot room. So you sweat, and your muscles warm up easily. I heard about a very good deal on the radio yesterday, phoned up today, and, hey presto, I am now the owner of a voucher enabling me to go to 10 classes for £29. Radio advertising does work! (for those that are interested, it’s moneysupermarketdeals.)

I digress. The thing is, about seven years ago, I would have barely blinked at that suggestion. I would wear a bra top and shorts to the gym. But seven years ago, I would have considered hot yoga to be too wimpish, too try-hard. Now it seems like A Big Deal.

But it also made me realised how childbirth and time have, inevitably, changed my body and, as a result, my body image. I still weigh about the same, but lack muscle tone, have cellulite and the beginnings of bingo wings. I feel completely different about my body, no loner as something to show off, but as a functional entity that, on a good day, is free from aches and pains.

As an aficionado of the exercise DVD or brisk walk, I am not used to subjecting my body to public scrutiny. I am feeling a bit nervous about it, not only because I have no idea what to wear, but because I am no longer familiar with this sort of self consciousness. I vividly remember going on a walk with my first son when he was a baby. I was wearing a summer dress and scrubbed up ok on that particular occasion. But the pushchair rendered me invisible to the critical gaze. It was reassuring, in a way. For the first time, I didn’t worry about what people might think of my appearance. It was as if my baby was acting as a shield between me and the outside world.

So this marks something of a new beginning, a new awareness of my physical self. I will probably be shocked by the obvious passage of time writ all over me. But I’m also looking forward to the discovery.