A Bikram Yoga Newbie

I propped the door open and walked in.  Noticing an array of shoes and sandals on the ground near the door, I followed suit and abandoned mine as well.  The first aspect of the room that came to my immediate attention was its smell.  Its raw odor filled every corner of the room.  It was distinct.  It was the stench of human sweat--that would soon be falling freely from my own body.  The lights were dim, and practically non-existent.  As I subtly acknowledged the few who were already inside the room, I calmly established my area on the firm, carpeted floor.  I then laid my maroon-colored yoga mat onto the floor, over which I gently draped a white towel.  In doing so, I noticed several humidifiers dispersed along the perimeter of the room--as if the room wasn't hot enough.  The combination of the spewing steam mixed with the room's sultry aroma kindly invited me to lie down on my back and face the ceiling.  

Not long after I laid down, the lights flickered and the room was suddenly bright.  And I'll admit... mindlessly gazing into the mirror in front of me for ninety minutes was quite odd.  It's definitely not something a whole lot of us would want to do, especially if we could avoid it... and especially not for an hour and a half.  But at the same time, examining how my own body reacted to each attempted contortion was somehow relaxing.  Instead of focusing on my appearance in the mirror, my focus was shifted (almost subconsciously) to how I felt during the various poses, breathing exercises, and energy that my body was exerting.  It was as if I was able to look past my own image, and instead, look deeper within myself and examine what I was striving to accomplish within each pose.  

Sweat takes on an entirely new meaning within Bikram yoga.  About five minutes into the session, I felt a single bead of sweat make its way down the small of my back.  I am quite aware of my body's capability to sweat profusely.  But little did I know that my body was capable of producing dense, flowing streams of moisture, that rushed down my legs faster than you can say Magic Mountain.  Before I knew it, my clothes were sopping. 

Further on into the session, I found myself in a stance known as the "warrior pose."  As my body curled over the front of my right knee and my left arm became elongated in the air above me, for some reason, I noticed my running watch on my wrist.  The presence of time hadn't occurred to me up until then.  It became apparent at this point that time itself was of no significant importance.  Rather, what was important, was the fact that I was there and that my whole being was invested in developing an ease with myself and my surroundings.  There was no need for time--only the need to be.  Throughout various events in my own life, including this very one, I've come to learn (for whatever reason) that living in the moment allows us to appreciate the outcome of noteworthy life events much more than living skeptically and pessimistically.  

On my back once more, with my arms beside me and my palms facing the ceiling, I remained still.  The final "savasana," concluded the yoga session.  "Namaste," the instructor uttered, as he made his way out of the room.  Accordingly, my fellow Yogis and I echoed back the Hindu phrase meaning "the divine in me recognizes the divine in you."  The lights flickered off, and the room was dark once again. -- Did I mention that the room's temperature was 110 degrees?  Whoops.  I suppose that small detail slipped my mind.  Sigh.