I’m going to answer your burning questions about my introduction to hot yoga; yes, I survived.
That in itself is success.
In an attempt to come up with some sort of healthy schedule in light of my new empty nest status, I have signed up for a month of hot yoga, hoping that I love it enough to make it a habit.
Empty-nesting has left a hole in my life where all of my put-off self care needs to go.
So, I started at my local yoga place. The greeting at the door at Moksha Yoga was not a spiritual-community-greeting. It was extremely clear that the sinewy, dewy-faced, blonde-haired twenty something behind the counter was running a business. After years of meditation practice, temple visits (and spa visits…), I get it.
Although I arrived very early, she was all about the rules. I might suggest that for identified first-time visitors, that business warm up their hellos. I’m pretty outgoing, so it didn’t deter me, but for others who are coming in, carrying more anxiety and fear, it would certainly make the experience much more attractive.
A few folks that I know helped me choose an outfit that would not be sloppy and inhibit my movements; a sports bra, tank and pair of yoga pants. I took two towels, a water bottle, and rented a mat as I tossed my old one during my recent move. AmazonPrime will save me within 36 hours with a new one.
Hair: the bain of my feminine existence. I clipped my naturally ringlet tight curls up and added a sports band for good measure. After class I looked like I was making a half-assed attempt at blonde dreadlocks but, whatever.
The class slowly filled in at the last minute, and I eased back into my position on the mat which I hadn’t made time for in at least five years.
It was hot, and I was wise choosing a reduced-heat class. I survived, and felt refreshed at the end of class. Even joyful.
I will be back.