diary of a bikram yoga junkie.

SaNitY cHecK. it's tuesday morning. 5:45am. i don't have to be at work until 9:30am this morning. so why am i up? oh, that's right, i am up, i am in the process of getting dressed, because i am choosing to go sweat like a madperson for 90 consecutive, relentless, grueling minutes. choosing to push my body to its absolute physical limits of strength, flexibility, and balance at 6:45am on a tuesday morning. and at 8:15am, as i lie on my back on my mat in final savasana, drenched in sweat, my sopping tee shirt and little yoga shorts soaked through and stuck to my body, i will LOVE the way i feel. i will want to stay where i am and do it all over again. i will reluctantly get up from my mat, trying to prepare myself to shower and rejoin the "dry" world. i will roll my mat up and smile with pride at how nice of a job i did with the letters when i took sharpie in hand and branded *henderson* on my blue mat. i will feel a chill as i leave the 106 degree studio and enter the hall. i will shower, put on my make up, brush my wet hair and put on dry clothes. but, of course, the humidity in the locker room combined with my own elevated internal body temperature will make blowdrying my hair virtually impossible at that moment in time. so i will pack up my things, return my yoga mat to its storage place, and, lastly, obeying the fundamental rule of yoga studio etiquette, put my shoes on just before heading out the door with my still wet hair. i will hop on the f train, wet head and all, laden with bags (my unnecessarily large purse, my pink plastic bag with my wet clothes, my "yoga" bag full of hair products and shower supplies and makeup and whatever else i may feel i will need over the course of the day). i will get off at 57th street, enter my building (and, the way things have been going lately, i will most likely try to swipe my metrocard instead of my building id), go up to the 27th floor, and stop in the ladies' room, where i will finally blowdry my hair. the other women who come in and out, mostly from the law firm down the hall, will take in the coat and bags strewn about, the blowdryer plugged into the outlet in the corner by the trash can, my struggle to juggle both blowdryer and round brush, and look at me like i'm insane.
but maybe i am. and maybe i don't care - because i doubt anyone said "picture perfect" to them this morning during awkward pose.