Day 75 McYoga Bad Boy

There’s another woman at my studio who’s also going for 90 days, Heather, and we compare notes whenever we happen to be at the same class. We’re both a little amazed, I think, that we’ve made it this far.

Today Heather brought her brother in with her. She’d been talking it up, I guess, and he finally decided to give it a try. As always, it’s a bit entertaining when there’s fresh meat in the hot room. (For a few minutes anyway; as soon as we get going, it’s all you can do to pay attention to your own breathing, never mind anyone else’s performance.)

But unline Naked Sweaty Boys, Heather’s brother was of mature years and girth, and our gentle amusement gave way to alarm as reality landed on him. He spent the last few postures listing sideways on his haunches, one hand on his chest.

“Is he okay?” another woman asked in the change room, after class. Several of us gathered around to hear the answer. It had crossed my mind that if I do Bikram yoga long enough, I’m bound to see someone pass out or throw up or something eventually.

“He’s fine,” answered Heather, waving away our concern with typical sisterly nonchalance. “Probably has a bit more respect for me now.”

Fortunately, the instructor told him, as they do all beginners, to lie down if he began to feel dizzy, light-headed or nauseous. The goal, we’re all told, is simply to stay in the room.

But some instructors are more stringent than others. Bikram Choudhury himself has a reputation for insulting students, chastising them, berating them all as part of his unique – and copyrighted – version of yoga. Maybe he can get away with it because of his broken English and chipper accent, but I don’t think I’d have gone back for a second class, had it been my junk body he was poking at.

I like my studio and I like the workout, but the man himself… well, you decide …