Within each of us is the deep center of peace. No matter what happens, I trust that I am going to be okay. Even at times when I have been playing big in extreme sports and I get that this may be it, this may be my last moment, somehow instead of panic, I have a deep calm and I am fine with whatever comes. Even at times that I have been so very sad about an ending, and have cried it all out on the couch in front of some sappy chick flick, after the tears comes a sense of peace and I know I am going to be okay. This deep “okay-ness” this sense of clam and security is always there. Even through emotional, mental, physical turmoil, we can still connect to the calm center of our being and know we will be okay.
I went to a Hatha yoga class this morning at a studio I have never been to before. I squeezed my mat in between the tan tattoo girl and the guy in a tie-dye t-shirt facing a row of large windows with sheer red curtains. The teacher began with a theme about how it is possible to breathe through anything. Silently I agreed with her, yoga taught me that valuable lesson years ago. “With that in mind,” she said, “We are going to test the limits of what we can breathe through today with some intense core engaging poses.” My mind groaned. I may have chosen the wrong class. Oh well, I could breathe through it and how long could an hour and a half be anyway?
We started with Downward Dog, going into a balance pose on one leg and one arm. Then we drew the extended leg and arm in again and again, and yes, my core was engaged in a healthy tremble. There was a click and a rush of air. The room was very warm already, so I accepted this to be the sound of the air conditioner engaging and followed the class into a yoga pushup series. Then it became uncomfortably warm.
“I wonder,” said the instructor, “Did the heater just go on? I think it is 80 in here already. She left us in handstand and went out to see if she could turn off the heater. I breathed into my hands and shoulders. The heat was okay, the heat would be ending soon. The door clicked and our instructor walked by.
“Well, That’s odd. Apparently the heater is stuck on.” she said, casually dismissing it. “Oh, you can come down now.”
We moved into Frog pose. The temperature was uncomfortably warm and rising. A couple minutes into it, my thighs were screaming. I wanted out. But instead of backing out of the pose, I held my ground and breathed into the sensation. My mind teetered on the edge of panic partly because of the heat and mostly because my legs felt like they might rip off and be served with butter and garlic any minute.
Tie-dye tee guy was having trouble. Through his legs I could see the sweat drip off his nose and form a puddle. The heater was still on. A hot wind blew over both of us. The room felt very small. I took a deep inhale that ended in a sigh and remembered that this was only an hour. This was a very small portion of my life. And Frog pose had to only be another two minutes (I hoped!) of my life. Knowing that this moment, and this overwhelming sensation was just temporary brought me a sense of peace. The instructor took a deep breath in. I anticipated her releasing us from the agony. “Just another three minutes to go. You are doing great. Keep breathing through it”
Three minutes? My body feels like hell after just one minute and we have three minutes more to go? I might die! Death by scorched frog pose. That will be an interesting obituary to read: Girl dies of burnt frog legs.
I checked on Tie-dye guy. Yes, another minute and his lake of sweat would form a river. I hoped to God the yoga floor was not sloped and we would have no runaway rivers headed my way. I had better breathe into the pose now and enjoy breathing while I could, before I drowned in that river.
“Okay, gently use your hands to bring your legs back in.” My legs were so sore. I was surprised they didn’t creak as I drew them together. They weren’t going to speak to me for at least five minutes, if not days.
As we moved into Downward Dog and Plank, I considered asking the instructor to check the heater again. How could she be so causal about this? Oh well, the heater will just blare and bake us the entire class?! I regretted laying my stinky-feet-mat down next to that white grate. How did I miss that was a heating vent? My core was shaking like an earthquake in a tropical place. Another few degrees warmer and giant leaves might sprout from the walls and we would all have to fend off huge tropical insects.
I don’t do the heated Bikram Yoga classes exercising while being too hot has never appealed to me. I tend to get heatstroke in those situations. And now, in Plank, I could feel my cheeks flushing. My hair stuck to my face. My pulse quickened, but perhaps that was less from heatstroke and more from the effort of holding my body hovering over the mat in the pose.
I no longer liked the curtains I was facing. They were red decorations on the edges of an inferno. Couldn’t the studio have chosen a cooling color? What’s wrong with blue?
I peeked over at Tie-dye guy. Apparently men have sweat ducts on their elbows. Wow, you learn something new every day.
“Okay class. Lower through Chataranga to Cobra, and now down to your mat.”
Great. Face down in stinky feet. The heat seemed to accentuate the smell, or maybe that was the general body odor scent the room was developing. However, I was so grateful to just be laying still, no matter how sticky, no matter how stinky, just to be calm here and do nothing but release. It was then that I remembered, it was all okay. Inside this ungodly hot, smelly tropical oasis of effort, there was a sense of release. I still wanted to run to the bathroom and wash my face in cool water, but I knew I didn’t need to just yet. I wanted to move to a corner far away from the heating vent, but I didn’t need to. I wanted to walk past the instructor and go take a look at that heater gage myself, but I didn’t need to control it. Beneath my odor mat, my island from the widening lake of sweat from tie-dye guy, the floor was cool. We rolled over to Shivasana, and I fully relaxed. I was able to lay still. More still than I had been in weeks while remaining awake. I left Tie-dye guy in his lake and came back to my own mat, my own body and my own calm center and it was all okay. As difficult as it was, I brought my mind back to the present moment, back to my body, back to my own mat, my own practice. I studied the texture of the yoga mat below me. A borrowed mat. How many others had died here on this mat? This mat that smelled of feet. Stinky yoga toes.
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