Yoga last night was fantastic torture. It's 90 minutes of dripping sweat and pain, but I love it. The class was jam packed and although the room is not heated, it feels like sauna because of all the body heat. I actually stepped in a puddle of someone else's sweat in my barefeet on the way out, but was too exhausted to care. Thinking about it now though gives me the shivers.
It's simply cleansing, in every sense. I walk out feeling lighter and freer, like I definitley left a lot of crap in that room on my mat. Clean energy, clean body. I've been yoga-ing for a year now. And I'm addicted. This was only my second time at this studio. One of the neatest parts about it is that every class is donation based. I'm utterly shocked that I'm not sore. Just a little tired, everything a little worn.
It's also good for my neuroses because you're packed in like sardines. I could feel the guy next to me breathing on me (and yoga's all about the breathing). It helps me work through it, just be comfortable, people are people are people.
Holy cow, though. Right before the class started, this black guy in a suit, stumbled in, walked on everyone's mats and lied down in the corner, on someone's yoga mat. It took the teacher and a few students like ten minutes to get him up and out. And on the way out, the teacher told him it was a yoga class he was trying to sleep in, and a goofy grin lit up his face and he said, "Yoga?!" It sounded as if he had an African accent. And then in the early moments of the class, I could hear a brief cop siren, I'm guessing they came to remove his sleeping body from the sidewalk.
He wasn't homeless, you could tell by the way he was dressed. Just drunk and confused. Unsettling.
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