Feelin' Hot Hot Hot

So, my St. Patrick's Day acrobatics on ice left me with a throbbing lower back that practically has me sleeping flat on my back on the floor with my knees hugged to my chest just be comfortable (or, as I like to call it, "taking 6 Advil PM and sleeping however I damn well please).

After a week of this, I decided that maybe it was time to haul my ass back to yoga.

Not just any yoga, mind you, Bikram yoga. As in, "won't it be fun, on top of the agonizing contortions we're already forcing you into, if we jacked the heat in the room up to--seriously--108 degrees so you feel like you're not only going to tip over, but also die, then possibly puke and poop in your pants?"

Speaking of pooping in pants, upon leaving this 90 minute torture session, my shorts were so thoroughly sweat soaked that they flopped about uncomfortably on my butt and thighs, bringing horrific flashbacks to pissing my pants in the 4th grade becuase freaking Mrs. Webster woudln't let me go to the bathroom until class was over, and my poor little 8 year old bladder just couldn't take it.

*shudder*

But yeah, the yoga. The thing about it, is that I'm actually surprisingly flexible. ("That's what he said!") (Man, I really wish "The Office" would come back.) But when you're doing this shit in 108 degree heat, you tend to feel, basically, like you're going to spew chunks all over the cute little hard-bodied 100-pound girl in front of you, who is offending your fat rolls with her freaking bikini.

(Seriously, a lot of girls wear bathing suits to this class becuase the sweat pours off you in buckets, which would have explained the shockingly high number of men in my class, if I hadn't ascertained that they were in fact mostly gay.)

Luckily, I managed to keep my chunks in my belly, and I only had to sit out one set to do it.

I've never before done a workout that has made me wish for my own death for more than an hour, but then make me anxious to return as soon as I can scrape up another 12 bucks. I guess for me, Bikram yoga is like that asshole guy that verbally and mentally abuses you, and makes you feel like utter poo, but then sends you flowers the next day or something and sends you running back to his arms.

Okay, shitty metaphor. But seriously! I can't wait to go back.