Marathoning is for Wimps

Oh sorry, did you run a marathon and think you were a bad ass? Did you run more than one? Maybe you even qualified for Boston or placed in your age group or looked really good in short shorts when you got your race pictures back. It doesn't matter. If you've never done Bikram yoga, you just haven't worked that hard.

Let's back track: I don't really do much cross training. Maybe once a week I lift, and occasionally I drink wine instead of beer. But that's about it. Or it was, until my pal Caroline suggested we try Bikram yoga. For the non-self righteous - oops, I mean "enlightened" - out there, Bikram yoga consists of 26 poses, completed over the course of 90 minutes. In a room heated to 105 degrees. Equipped with that breadth of knowledge, and the fact that each of us knew one or two really skinny socialitey types who OMG totes swear by Bikram and sweating out toxins and subsisting on ice cubes and Splenda, we decided to give it a shot. At best, we'd come out of it weighing a few pounds less (hello, race weight!), and at worst, I'd have something to blog about. Or, we'd die of heat stroke.

I met Caroline (heretofore "Crazy Train" or just "Train") after work and we anxiously changed into our Bikram attire. My boss, a Bikram practitioner, advised us on what to wear. The answer? As little as possible. This week: Claire's Genitals Work on Their Flexibility at Yoga!

We waited for the studio to empty from the class before ours and were rather concerned by how sweaty and red faced the participants were. "I dare you to ask them if it's really hot in there," I goaded Train. But we didn't, because it was time to go find our spots and my boss had tipped us off to get spots away from the heaters. Also, we didn't want to be near any dudes because we didn't want dude sweat to drip on us.

So, how hot is it? It's really hot. And really humid. Like a July day at the beach, minus the sea breeze (and the huge expanse of water you can jump into to cool off. And the alcohol). Train and I spent maybe five minutes in the studio before class started, sitting still and talking (about how hot it was. We were absolutely those annoying girls), and by the time the instructor was ready, I was rocking a sweet sweat stache.

Because there were a good number of first timers in the room, Bruce (the instructor) and his microscopic bathing suit briefed us on what to expect. It's hot, he said. Don't leave the room unless you're actually having an emergency. Don't move to sit or lie down during a pose. And when the going gets tough and you think you can't stand/stretch/lengthen/deepen any more, use your breathing to get through it. Focus on even breathing and you'll bring down your level of panic (and heart rate). A ha! Here was my take away message for Boston! But, did I have to stick around for the next 88 minutes of torture?

Guys, I sweat a lot. I have run through brutal summers and played tennis under the baking sun and hiked in nothing but a pack and my underwear. But I am not exaggerating when I say I've never sweat like this. 15 minutes in, sweat was pouring off my face like a shower. I leaned over in our first forward bend and saw sweat beads coating the fronts of my thighs. I've never seen that before. Ever.

I handled the first 40 minutes pretty well. I'm not the most flexible girl out there (the physical therapist actually told me I was one of the least flexible runners she'd encountered), but I was able to get into at least something resembling the assigned pose, fairing surprising well in the heat. That ended very soon.

For the next 50 minutes, I did everything I could to not die. I focused on my breathing. That got me through approximately 5 minutes of agony. Then I started praying Bruce would crack a door or window, or even that Caroline would exhale on me. Anything to get some relief. My water had rapidly gone from cold to tepid to the exact temperature of the inside of my mouth, but every time Bruce allowed us to take a sip, I enthusiastically did as I was told.

By the last 20 minutes, I was sitting down every other posture. The pounding in my head was unreal, and any sudden movement made me dizzy. I know this is stating the obvious, but IT WAS SO HOT. But by that point, I was just proud of myself for staying; while no one is supposed to leave the room during class except for emergencies, I'd guess a good dozen bowed out early (not without some judgement from Bruce). I tried to redouble my efforts, knowing I had 10 minutes to go, and managed to finish the class alive. Barely. Train and I exchanged high fives, which took a considerable amount of effort, and lay on the floor trying to collect ourselves.

After class, I headed to the locker room to change. I didn't know what to do. My clothes (just a tank top and shorts) were absolutely soaked through. Like I'd run through a thunderstorm. I couldn't believe all that sweat, plus to two towels I'd sweat through, had come from me. In just an hour and a half! Exceedingly thankful I hadn't unpacked from Sunday's race, I stripped down, threw everything in a plastic bag, and put on my running warm up gear for the trek home.

So, will I do Bikram again? Probably. I'm really proud I was able to last the whole 90 minutes (did I mention it was really hot in there?), and I think a Monday, when I don't have any running scheduled and have just come off a long run, was an ideal time for me to try it; I'll be sure to report back on how I feel tomorrow, but I hope I'm feeling stretched and limber. Would I recommend Bikram? Only if you're regularly highly active. 90 minutes of sweating like this is no joke, and that's before you bring the postures into the mix. If you're looking to increase your flexibility, try regular yoga first. Jumping into Bikram is kinda like jumping right into a marathon. Only with way more sweat, nausea, anxiety, and pain. Basically, way more bad ass.