Hot Yoga.

A few weeks ago I had the brilliant idea of joining a yoga studio near my apartment. BIKRAM YOGA - screamed the sign around the block from my apartment. Hey, I took yoga at school. Heck, I even took some classes at home. This will be relaxing and great! I'm going to be so healthy! I patted myself on the back for even concepting such an awesome idea.

How wrong I was.

Anyone who knows more than me about yoga has already noticed that I signed up for hot yoga, which is exactly how it sounds. Yoga, in a hot room. A really hot room. Hotter than the depths of hell I imagine, but that's just me.

I walk into the studio on my first day, and I am instantly sweating. I've got on my stolen high school basketball shorts (sorry Coach Miller) and a 'Cuse tee shirt. Unfortunately, for my particular situation I may as well have been wearing a fur lined parka. The wiser yogi's of the room are wearing, well, not much actually. Maybe one woman had on a tank-top but that was as conservative as the apparel got. Feeling a bit insecure I vowed to cover my midsection at all times. I just graduated college people. I have 4 years of happy hour and frat parties to work off.

Class begins and I'm ready for some calming breathing, stretching, a few balance poses and just overall relaxation. Wrong again. The instructor is a drill sergeant. Her and her happy hour/frat party-less stomach. Whatever. She leads us through some breathing exercises and I'm already feeling dizzy.

22 minutes pass.

WHY, GOD? WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?

Triangle pose? I can't even stand up straight at this point. No, I will not have my thigh make a 90 degree angle with the floor thanks, actually, what I may do is vomit if you keep me in this room any longer. Oh, really? It's normal to feel dizzy and nauseous after the camel pose, oh wise yoga instructor? Is it normal to will the ceiling tile above your head to come crashing down so I can get the hell out of here? (I get a little cranky when hot).

30 minutes pass.

'Cuse tee is a sopping wet mess in the corner. The level of physical exertion I'm feeling is embarrassing. I'm too weak to even feel insecure about the fact that I'm wearing a sports bra in a room of stick-thin women. This is new.

The concept of time has escaped me.

Attempting tree pose and my legs are slipping off each other. I'm blinded by the gallons of sweat that have dripped into my eyes. Corpse pose. Now we're talking. No movement whatsoever...and yet I'm still concerned my heart will soon shatter my ribcage from the inside.

I limp home after class and throw myself up 4 flights of stairs. I sit down and chug water. I'm still too nauseous to even consider cooking.

No wonder these women are so thin.