Pride

In that hot room, pride is a double-edged sword. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps you from sprawling out on your face during a posture and often it’s the very thing that has you throwing your back because you wanted to show off. I guess the best thing to do is just do the posture.

Day 47 of my 101-day Bikram yoga challenge began with me reminding Angela that I was in my 47th day taking my 49th class. There was the collective whoa amongst the other students and a newbie on his 3rd day, very taken aback, says “You took 2 classes in 1 day?”. To which I responded “Oh that’s nothing. I’ve taken 30 classes in 15 days. The 2nd class is always great because you’re so open but the first is the usual hell.” Angela also reminded us that teacher training involves class 2 times a day.

Class ended with me almost curled up in a ball crying for my mommy. Not because I was in pain–I ended up that way because 47 days of this yoga is just insane and I’m teetering on the edge of unresolved emotions. I expect the crying will start soon enough.

I remember taking class on day my young aunt died in front of me in the hospital. I came to class at Bikram Yoga Union Square clenched in disbelief. I mentioned the death to Otto, the owner, who encouraged me to take class and took exquisite care of me–all of us–as he put us through posture after posture that detached the mind from the body. I cried catharsis and felt like I was outside myself watching my prostrate body purging this new, unfamiliar, traumatic experience. I learned that truly, there is no pride in that room. There is no you in that room. There is release. I wanted my mommy then–I always do–and I expect I have a number of days like that coming. About time.

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