Lets just get this out of the way. I’m pretty much fucking bonkers.
Why? You ask.
Well apparently the humid, summer here Wisco isn’t enough for me. Apparently my logic runs something like this:
“I would like the palms of my hands and my asshole to sweat at the same time”

Following that logic I jumped into a Bikram Yoger class.

Now, I should let you know that I’ve spent a fair amount of time doing yoger,  I’ve done hippie sweat lodges and I’ve spent time in South Carolina. I know yoga and I know gross heat, and I’m Einsteining when I say they do not belong together.  At least not in the setting I experienced.

Maybe I’m too partial to Iyengar Yoga, but I thought part of the deal was to keep the body aligned and learn the postures. If you’re not Asana ready, you use props to find the right path to the position and you work towards it over time. Not in Caitlyn’s sweatshop class. She was spewing commands that students do whatever it takes to get into the position She wasn’t giving a fuck about keeping shoulders and hips on a plane. “Make it hurt” seemed to be the theme of the class. Madness.

I’ll go back to my not hip yoga and work on better posture and headstands.

I’m not sure if people really understand how much you sweat in this class. In 90 minutes my sweat-wickery  shorts and shirt were soaked, as was my bandanner, as was the towel I had laying over my yoger mat, as was any exposed part of my yoger mat. And I’m not saying these items were damp, these things were ring-fucking-outtable.

And when you’re that sweaty and everyone around you is that sweaty there are two things you don’t want to be touching

• Strangers
• Carpet

And Bikram offers you both of these.

Lastly, just because you stand in front of a class and spout commands doesn’t mean you’re a yogi.

Also girl in front of me in class, shave your armpits. This isn’t the early 90s anymore.