The Unbearable Lightness of Being

For the last year or so, I had been thinking about taking yoga classes. Last week, I finally decided to take the plunge. First, I did a bit of research and learned that there are indeed many types of yoga. One in particular grabbed my interest: Bikram yoga also known as hot yoga. It is a series of 26 postures executed in a room heated to 108 F (42 C). It sounded like the most extreme of them all which appealed to the masochist in me. I thought it would be perfect: the suffering combined with light-headedness would make my mind transcend into mystical exaltation. This romantic fantasy died abruptly in the first few minutes of my first class.

Anni, our instructor, greeted me at the front desk. She smiled serenely as she said, "Nathalie, the heat is very difficult to handle for first-timers. Don't worry if you struggle. Your only goal today should be to remain in the room for the whole 90 minutes. Just try to stay inside." I smiled back, thinking about how sweet she was to set such low expectations for me.

I was covered in sweat before the class had officially started. Not far from me was Jack, the only other first-timer among this group of 22. The first posture is really a breathing exercise that makes you bend your neck backwards as far as it will go. I was dizzy within minutes. The second posture, the half-moon, wasn't bad and I was briefly hopeful that things would be okay. By the time we had finished the third posture, I thought I would die. My muscles were aching already but it was my pride that was hurt the most. The heat was too much, I had to sit down. I stole a glance at Jack, hoping to find him passed out on the floor, but there he was like a trooper, twisting his suspiciously limber body in the "awkward pose." Our eyes locked and I could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched smugly for an instant. I gathered my courage and stood up, perhaps a bit too quickly. I felt like all my blood drained out of my body in a downward rush which I knew  to be a sign that I was about to lose consciousness. I ducked just in time to save myself from the ultimate embarrassment. As I lay down on my mat, I caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall: 70 excruciating minutes to go. The unbearable lightness of my being reminded me of Milan Kundera and I too, asked myself some existentialist questions, such as "What the hell am I doing here?" and "Am I insane?"

For the next 30 minutes, I attempted about half of the poses, having to rest frequently. I kept looking at the clock more and more often, inwardly chanting my mantra: "Stay in the room, stay in the room, just stay in the room." The door was calling to me, the sweet conditioned air awaiting just on the other side. I resisted, somehow. The second half of the poses was done lying on the floor, and I tried to participate a bit more. In one of them, lying on the stomach, we are to raise our legs and torso to mimic a plane taking flight. "You are a 747 taking off," Anni urges, "lift that chest, higher, higher!" I look at Jack. He is soaring like a bald eagle and my two front wheels won't even get off the runway, if you know what I mean. I am seething, a mixture of shame and envy raising my body temperature yet another unneeded degree. I grit my teeth. "Just stay in the room, just stay in the room."

I did stay in the room for the entire 90 minutes. Jack spent the last 3 poses lying down, but I couldn't even summon enough energy to draw any satisfaction from it. As we lay on our backs during the relaxation period at the end, I felt like an empty shell. I had nothing left. I wondered if I would have to literally drag myself out of the room, miserably clawing my way across the carpet. Anni's soothing voice floated to my ears: "It has been my honor to be your instructor today." Two small tears escaped the corner of my eyes and rolled down the sides of my face.

Later, in the shower, the cold water strengthened my resolve. I had to come back. I didn't want to, but this was a chance to push myself beyond my limits, way beyond, and something in me hungers for these challenges. I thought, "I don't care if I must lie down for 90 minutes, I am coming back tomorrow. I'm coming back, I'm coming back, I'm coming back." Near the front desk, as I was walking out of the studio, Jack was sitting on a chair, leaning forward. Softly, he was repeating to himself over and over: "I'm coming back, I'm coming back, I'm coming back." I smiled to myself.

I played that tape in my head for the next 22 hours. When I showed up at the studio the following night, Anni gave me a wide smile. That time, I was able to do all of the poses and, although not always correctly and rarely ever gracefully, it felt like one of the biggest victories of my life. Mystical exaltation was still out of reach, but perhaps not as far away as it had seemed the day before. And where was Jack on that second evening? Why, no where to be found.