Recently I did something a little bit out of the ordinary for me. I went along to a Bikram (or hot) yoga session. This strange form of slow torture was developed by a guy called Bikram Choudhury. The idea is that you go through a series of yoga positions in a room at around 40 Celsius and at 40% humidity. Our old mate Bikky was convinced that injury prevention and stretching was aided by the heat, and that stress and tension was also reduced. A Bikram yoga session runs for 90 minutes and does through a sequence of 26 specially formulated postures and 2 breathing exercises.
The idea goes that when you perform a pose (or asana), you are performing a compression and this removes circulation to a certain part of the body. The heart then pumps more blood around the body in order to counteract this blockage, which is known as an extension. Apparently this process can remove toxins, bacteria and other bad stuff from your system: the change in volume and intensity of blood flow releases all the bad stuff.
My flatmates were enthusiastic about trying it and some of that must have rubbed off on me, because I was soon persuaded too. Before I went along I had a mental picture of what hot yoga would be like. The spacious room would be steamy like a sauna, and tastefully dressed with classy fixtures and cool dark tile. In that space, 30 or so gracefully figures would run through familiar motions honed to controlled, localised perfection. The women would be long limbed and lithe and uniformly tanned, while each man would seem closer to Adonis than the last. All would be barely clad and breathing easily in the Amazonian conditions, a light sheen of sweat glistening on their skin. Limber would not even begin to describe the poses they could assume. The idea was both terrifying and stimulating.
In the meantime, I would plod in already sweaty, breathing heavily through my mouth and generally disrupting the scene. I would heave my shapeless bulk onto a mat and force my baggy body through a series of motions attempting to reach the set poses, each more unobtainable than the last. I would groan and sigh and struggle terribly: between sets I would lie on my side and pant like a hot tired seal stuck in the unrelenting sun. Delicate noses would turn skywards in disgust at my weak, pathetic efforts. The gaze of the others in the room would occasionally turn sidelong towards me, despite their best efforts to pretend I wasn’t there. I would struggle my way through the session and then trudge out completely depleted of fluids, while the regulars swept out looking fresh and pretending I didn’t exist. I would slink home tail between legs and devour a tub of ice-cream in an aching ball on the couch.
It turns out that basically all my assumptions couldn’t have been more wrong. The room was a cheap and cheerful space on the second story of a building on Tory St, and was filled with all kinds of people. None were particularly intimidating. The instructor was a lively young blonde thing who seemed immune to the heat. She was very positive and friendly the whole way through. All of her instructions were verbal – she didn’t actually demonstrate the poses as we were going. This surprised me greatly. However, from watching others it was fairly easy to pick up on what it was we were supposed to be doing. Actually doing it was another matter entirely.
I have to admit I was a bit cowboy about the whole thing. I assumed that because of my bike fitness, I wouldn’t have too much trouble. Sure the heat would be unpleasant, and I wouldn’t be flexible enough (or coordinated enough) to get into most of the poses, but it would basically be fine. It would be a little awkward, like most things the first time – but it would be okay.
Well, after entering the room (you are recommended to go in early, so your body can acclimatise) I felt fine. The heat was bearable, enough to know you’re in a heated room but not enough to be too uncomfortable. There was a large sweat stain on the floor next to where I set up my mat, however. This was ominous.
The class started with breathing exercises. Then it was into the poses. It became clear after one set that this whole yoga business was a lot more difficult than it seemed. Suddenly, my body was glazed with sweat. The problem was not my fitness. The problem was strength, or more specifically, the fact that I don’t possess any. The effort required to achieve some of the poses is mind blowing. And that’s before you even hold them for the required time. Then you lose balance, curse silently, and look over to see a little old lady effortlessly performing the motions, face serene. It’s an interesting scenario which will either break you or make you more determined to push through.
By 2/3rds of the way through I wished the class was ending. I’d sweated an ocean: my towel was heavy, my skin slippery everywhere and all of my clothing drenched. Many of the poses require you to grab and hold onto a part of your body. This had become near impossible because of the thick layer of sweat lubricating every inch of my skin. I looked over at the instructor and she has a thoughtful, slightly puzzled look on her face. She talked quietly to one of the more experienced participants “do you think it’s getting colder in here?” Apparently it had been. The heat goes up.
Ahhhhhh. Not good.
The last half an hour is a bit of a blur. The pain is completely different to anything I’d dealt with before. It doesn’t compare with anything cycling has put me through. There’s no searing, white-hot burn as you force already tired muscles to keep repeating an action they’ve long since grown tired of. Instead you get this dull ache from trying to make yourself very still, even though you aren't quite strong enough to fight the resistance of your body. This leaves you shaking with effort. But the real pain comes from stretching yourself out in so many unusual ways: that’s the real purpose of the poses. And you soon find out just where your limits of flexibility are, by repeatedly going just past that point. The payoff is quick though, as you can see improvement even between reps.
The class ended with a breathing exercise, and I was pleased it was over. It is recommended you stay in the room as long as you can afterwards – I treated this as a kind of warm-down and stayed a while. I am pleased to be able to say I had a go at all of the poses, even though there were stages when I really didn’t want to.
Will I go again? It’s hard to say, Bikram isn’t for the financially challenged so that will definitely be a factor. However, at this stage I would like to have another go. If it yields half of the benefits it promises then the payoff is probably worth the investment.
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