BIKRAM YOGA

God....... I am sore today. I have really tried this 'being good to my body' thing...... but i do not understand.

I have had enough of the gym..... two weeks ago, i pulled a stomach muscle and walked around for a week like i was having a permanent colonic..... so i thought i'd try that 'Bikram Yoga'. I have done Yoga a few times before, and it really did center my chakras, and re-ignite my inner celestial prophecy. Back home in Sydney, it is always easy, as I'm usually surrounded by buff looking guys dressed in 'Abercrombie & Fitch', with hamstrings as tight as their pectorials, struggling with balance as the weight of their protruding thighs topple them over. While i stand there, with my inadequate flexibility, looking like Nadia Comaneci in comparison.

But this was different. I walked along the street, a few blocks from my apartment, into an area i had never been before. As i got closer to the Yoga studio, i was starting to be submerged into another world. The street was lined with Vintage Clothes stores, Organic Cafes, Organic Bottle shops, Organic Bakeries, Organic Deli's..... might as well as had an Organic Freaking Police Station.

But there it was...... 'Bikram Yoga', spray painted across these big red doors, as if masterfully created by troubled youths. I go inside and climb the stairs. In front of me is a sign, 'please respect the space by removing your shoes now'..... oh....... thats when the odour hit..... geeez. I took my shoes off, and placed them amongst the wicca sandals and 'Crocs' (don't get me started on 'crocs'), and booked myself into the class.

I entered the class quite confident, dressed to the nines, in my v-cut, low neck 'Zara' t-shirt, micro-fibre tracksuit pants, and hair combed as if i was trying to be one of those 'dark and brooding' types. But then as i opened the door........ damn shit........ how freaking hot is it....... the steam and smell of recycled sweat abruptly shot up my nostrils. As i wiped the sweat out of my eyes, i noticed i was surrounded by ultra skinny, tattooed bohemians in their underwear. I was no longer in an 'eye-candy' yoga class anymore. As quick as i entered the room, i exited back to my locker, removed my shirt, and re-entered the class.

The teacher..... i forget her name..... 'Kosmos' or something, was actually quite nice. She had that smooth, calming, tranquil voice, like one of those meditation CD's you get for an over-inflated price from the 'Tree Of Life', and she personally welcomed me to the class. All the bohemians turned, and said something in 'hippie', bowed and resumed the class.

The first few exercises were not so bad. As a dancer...... well 'mover to music' nowadays..... i can do things that other experienced yogies can do..... ah..... wait a minute........ did i just fall. No.... i have good balance....... oooops....... fell again....... geez, this is much harder than the one i did back home. Ummmm...... why is the room spinning....... can someone turn a fan on in here....... geez...... i need to sit down and its only been 2 minutes.

I had luckily positioned myself next to the door, so whenever anyone came in late, i got a draft blast of cool air that satisfied for only a second.

I re-aligned my auras, and got straight back into it. Some things were easy, some things were hard. Some things were just plain nasty, like the heavy breathing exercises that i think the woman next to me was treating more like a Lamaze class.

But the most difficult thing i found, was being able to look at myself in the mirror, and try and concentrate on contorting my body, while my hair was boofing up to new heights due to the humidity. I was looking less dark and less brooding..... i was a 'Flock Of Seagulls' reject. Oh, the humiliation.

The class was quite satisfying, and i had exceeded my expectations.... although it took all the might in the world, not to loudly fart while i was in the 'camel' position. It is the most difficult pose to do, kneeling like a ball, with your head on your knees, arse up in the air..... trying everything possible to clench the sphincter and save myself from the ultimate embarrassment.

But 'Kosmos' was so kind, and paid special attention to me, often highlighting that next time it would be better if i wasn't so dressed..... i finally got the 'underwear' idea. Next time i will be sporting a brief pair of jocks, although that would mean overcoming a huge fear of mine, as the last time i wore jocks in public, my package popped out and made a cameo appearance.

But that is if there is a next time...... 'Kosmos' told me i would release some toxins, and that i would feel a 'a little under the weather'..... she FAILED to tell me that i'd feel like the 'Spawn of Satan'. My throat is sore, my neck is now a bundle of swollen glands, my sinus is filled with gallons of mucus, my shoulder is sore, my back is sore, my thighs are sore, and for some reason, my left wrist is as limber as a mannequin.... and to top it off, my hair hasn't quite settled down since yesterday..... truly...... this 'Bart Simpson' get up is not on purpose. And i have friends coming to see the show i'm in tonight, and all i can offer is a bad impersonation of 'Quasimodo'.

God..... if you're there. Give me at least a nostril i can breathe with, or the ability to get up from a chair without making a wincing noise. At the very least.... let me find a hairdresser that stocks 'KMS Moulding Paste', so that the fro can settle down.

xxx K