Can a squat, matzo-ball shaped girl become a Yogi? Well, I'm gonna die trying. Today I got my first official stamp on my Passport to Prana. My Passport card came in the mail last week and I have been excited to try it, despite my having thrown in the yoga mat previously.
With Passport to Prana, I have the privilege of sampling yoga studios all over the GTA for the price of $30. After years of attempting yoga in a gym, I realized that trying to practice yoga in a gym is like trying to have a fine dining experience in a foodcourt. It's just not the right vibe. I'm excited to explore the city as a short unflexible yogi.
The first stop on my quest for Serenity was the Bikram Yoga Centre near the St. Lawrence Market. It was as good a place to start as any and it was 5 minutes away from work. I would go from desk jockey into sweaty cow position in no time! As I sauntered round the butt of the King Eddie Hotel, I had a bit of trouble locating the studio. Suddenly a guy whizzed by me on his bike. No doubt a bicycle courier - and he asked me if I'm looking for Yoga. He ditched his bike and took me up a lenghty flight of stairs to a studio. Then he took off his helmet and bike shoes. I guess this is what bike couriers do in their spare time.
The studio itself was on the dingier side. The reception area was a cross between a Dr's office and Daycare, with the owner of the studio breastfeeding her little 'un in the corner. Holistic.
Hilary, the instructor was very friendly when I mentioned I was a beginner. I neglected to mention that I've been a beginner for the past year and a half. (They're nicer when I say I'm a beginner than when I say I suck at yoga!) Hilary directed me to the changeroom, which was very awkwardly small, with random toilet stalls squished into a cramped space. The changeroom was clean and sufficient although horrendously cramped after the class with over 10 women vying for a space to get their stuff together.
Why don't yoga studios have lockers? Is the threat of Karma biting you on the ass powerful enough to ensure you stay out of other people's purses.....
Hilary informed me that the Bikram class was 90 minutes long. I told her I could only stay for the 60 minutes. "Oh, do you have plans after...' I couldn't bring myself to tell her that I couldn't physically and mentally muster up the strengh, stamina or attention span to stay for an hour and a half! (that's like yoga-ing through 3 episodes of Family Guy!)Hilary had me cornered. Right then and there, I committed to staying for the duration.
It's a good thing she was likable, cuz I was sweating by minute 3. And that was just from rolling out my yoga mat. We started with some bizzarro frog-like chant breathing. I was glad I didn't know anyone there and even more glad that nobody knew me. Surprisingly, the class flowed well. There was not one downward dog (yay) and not one sun salutation (double yay) . I guess those aren't part of the traditional Bikram sequence. There was no clock in the room, which was both a blessing and a curse.
And not to mention I had Yoga Rockstar in front of me all class. This guy was amazing - kept his cool throughout 90 mins of 110 degrees. The intense look of concentration in his eyes as he wiggled and contorted and flexed the perfect abs. Wow.
The class ended quickly enough, and after some pushing and shoving in the changeroom among a lot of sweat-soaked Lulu shorts Leaving the studio, bike courier guy told me I did well for my first time. I sheepishly thanked him - I do rock - for a 'beginner'. Yoga Rock Star left the studio - as cooly as he walked in - ripped jeans, tight white t, shades, jumped on his vespa and rode into the sunset. Wow.
My experience at Bikram was a good one. I still can't touch my toes, or clasp opposite elbows to my knees, but I lasted 90 mins. I'll call that a small victory.
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