Hot and Sweaty

I'm not a sweater. I don't like sweat. I think sweaty bodies are disgusting. For me, there's no faster way to kill the mood during sex. Don't touch your sweaty body to mine. Yuck. I can just barely handle touching my own sweat. Thankfully for me, I don't sweat much. Not usually. 

Until last week. 

Monday, I started Bikram yoga. What the hell is that? It's yoga that you do in a hot motherfucking room. 104 degrees to be exact. You do a series of 26 different poses. This is unlike any yoga I've ever done. No sun salutations. No upward-facing dog. Not even a warrior. I hate it and love it at the same time. It's hard, hot, and drippy. The yoga. Get your mind out of the gutter. 

I bring a beach towel with me to put on top of my yoga mat. By the end of class, the towel is soaked. Completely. I'm still amazed at the amount of liquid that pours out of my pores each time I practice. I drink tons of water all the time outside of class just so I don't die. 

It's a good thing that I've gotten over my whole belly thing, because most people (myself included) only wear a sports bra and shorty short yoga shorts. My bikini time in Hawaii prepared me for Bikram. However, in Hawaii, I didn't bend forward and scrunch and squish my flabby belly and excess skin. I stood/sat up tall and sucked in all the time. I still have it sucked in, but there's so much twisting and bending and "look at your belly" and "tuck in your chin" and "touch your forehead to your knees" that no amount of sucking in will help. So, I've let it go. Had to. 

I've also gotten over touching sweaty bodies. At least mine. I am the only one I touch during class. But I'm not just touching my hand to my sweaty leg. That would be easy. NOOOOOO, I'm touching my face- my entire pretty little face- to my legs. My 'dripping with sweat so much that it's pooling at my toes' legs. Like, when I look at my knees because that's where they want me to look, and I see the sweat, I have to make a decision -  get the most out of the practice and do what they are telling me to do, or, hell no those are some sweaty-ass legs and there's no way my face is going to bathe in sweat. But I do. I touch my pretty little face to my sweaty-ass legs, and the sweat drips into my mouth. And I don't feel grossed out at all. I'm actually amazed that it doesn't taste gross and salty. I let myself rejoice in the amazingness of my body and allow the sweat to help me move into deeper postures. 

I'm four classes into my first month, and I am pretty sure that I'm going to have to keep going forever. Or at least until I get bored and find something else to do instead.