Bikram Day #1. Again.

I got back to Tucson on Thursday and resolved to go to Bikram on Friday. Then I resolved to go to Bikram on Saturday. Then I decided I’d go on Monday.

Yesterday I looked at the clock and gave myself an ultimatum: Spend the next 90 minutes writing or go to Bikram. So I went to Bikram even though it was a tough choice and I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do less.

There’s something about Mondays. When I can’t force myself to start something new on any other day of the week, I can make it happen on a Monday. I have no answer to this conundrum but I’m grateful that it works for me.

In other news, the first day back sucks. Even when it doesn’t completely suck. I still don’t know what’s so hard about 90 minutes of yoga in a heated room. Why does it make me nauseous and dizzy and seem so freaking hard to keep my arms parallel to the floor for 60 seconds? Why does camel nearly kill me when I haven’t done it for three weeks? Why do I have to let myself give in and come out that pose early? I have no answers to those questions.

I do know that class will be much less hard tomorrow even though it’s only 24 hours from now and the room will be no less hot. Nothing about that makes sense but I know it to be true.

The first time I took a Bikram class in Toronto, I had a spot near the door where the cold air washed over me when the first student left class. I remember thinking “This is what the breath of God feels like.” I still think that might be true.

At the end of class, Bonnie said “Relax into the wonderment of stopping.”

Wonderment.

That is truth.

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