My Hot Yoga nightmare

It wasn’t until I was in the changing room that I realised that I hadn’t brought my shorts with me for Hot Yoga. On top I was wearing a vest, so that was ok, except that I wasn’t sure I had a bra on underneath. I had vision of embarrassing exposure every time we did cobra. No, it was OK, I found I was wearing a bra after all. So I could do the class in my undies — less than I would have liked to be wearing, but in reality not so different from what most yoginis would be wearing from choice. No need to be so shy.

Then I realised I hadn’t got my mat or mat-towel with me either. I had to borrow them from reception. That done, finally I went upstairs to the hot studio. I was now running a bit later than I had wanted to be and the studio was already pretty full. Not wanting to be at the front, I looked for a space in the back rows. I was ready to put my mat down but the guy next to me said he was saving the space for his friends. He looked super-cool, muscular, bit of an American accent. I was intimidated, but determined: I had to go somewhere after all. So I identified a spot where I could just about squeeze my mat in. As I unrolled it, I found that my loan mat was weirdly proportioned — very long and thin. I would be bulging over the edges it was so narrow. Oh well, I guess that was something to do with my body shape or my lack of coordination in fast sequences.

Once I’d got my place, I was able to take in more about my surroundings. Or the lights came on suddenly. I’m not sure. But suddenly I realised the studio was not at all how I remembered it. I was actually up on a mezzanine. Below that there was something that looked like a dance floor on the lower level. The space was full, a jumble of bodies and waving arms. And in the far corner was a mixing desk where my teacher was installed. It was a weird mix of nightclub, dance venue, and yoga studio. Flashing lights, writhing bodies, pulsing music. An almost ecstatic sensory chaos, of which I was just an onlooker. What was I doing here? I was too old, too uncool — and I was in my undies.

And then I woke up.

Classic anxiety dream.

Kind of ironic that yoga should be the cause of anxiety dreams. Probably says a lot not just about my uncertainty about my yoga practice but also my ambivalence about Hot Yoga. I’m booked onto a class tomorrow. I hope the warmth will help my aching muscles. Better go and pack my shorts and my mat!

image credit: http://galleryhip.com/night-clubbing-dancing.html