So I went to a Yoga class today. I figured, since it is Vancouver's main pastime, I should give it a go!Now, there was a chance that I inherited a Terrible-at-Yoga gene. My dad lives and breathes yoga - it changed his life. My mom, after listening him rave about the benefits of yoga for years, decided to join a class. For those of you who haven't met my mom, she is a very fit lady, and can pass for 20 years younger than she is. 15 minutes into her first yoga class, she ran from the room to puke her guts out.
I thought I'd be okay, though. I figure-skated for almost 20 years, and had no problem with whirling at breakneck speed around the ice. My coach used to make me spin for 3 minutes straight, while timing me with a stopwatch. Dizziness was never an issue, and a lot of yoga poses are quite similar to figure skating poses.
I picked a Hot Yoga class, which I also thought would be okay. I love the heat. I'm more comfortable in 40 degree heat than I am in an air-conditioned room. I was in Greece in 2007 (remember the year with all the wildfires and the record-breaking heat?) and just loved it. I was the only one out exploring while my tourmates suffered, with the AC blasting, in their rooms. So, Hot Yoga - no sweat! (har har)
15 minutes into the class, I started to feel, well...funny. "Breathe it out, just breathe it out," I reassured myself. 30 seconds later, I was in the washroom with the dry heaves. 15 minutes later, I told myself, "Okay, you got through it, now finish the class!" 5 minutes later, I was lying on my mat watching the the room spin. That was the end.
I left, still clutching my stomach in agony, while all around me happy voices cried, "That was sooooooo much fun! I want to do it EVERY DAY!!!!!"
So, has this ever happened to anyone else, or do my mother and I need exorcisms, pronto?
