After dabbling it in for a few weeks, I can now confirm that hot yoga is more than a form of human origami.
It is a physically punishing form of exercise. It breaks you down into a wet, mushy pile of doubt. Hot yoga is perfect for masochists who find living in Singapore, the world’s most expensive city, not challenging enough.
When I finish 90 minutes of hot yoga, I will be in a fetal position in a puddle of my own sweat, curled up like a violated, drowned rodent.
Why do I do it? I do it because it makes me feel like a violated, drowned rodent.
Why do I want to be left breathless, soaking and trying to feel my limbs? Because it kicks my ass and I like it.
I practise yoga with a blank expression on my face, but my soul insists there is a lot happening. Thanks to the struggle to breathe and my heart threatening to explode any second, my mind is hyper active during yoga.
These thoughts are my body’s natural defense mechanism. They distract me and keep my brain engaged, so I don’t die in class.
Made it to class on time… BUT my spot in front is taken!
*sad face* Now I have to upward dog into someone arse. Hope she is not gassy!
Cool, I’m one of two guys in a class full of stretchy, strong women…
I feel superior because I have more leg hair than everyone else here.
[Class starts] Okay, long, deep breathing exercises in a 40-degree room…
Find my centre, find my centre…
I smell feet. And human breath. And I need to think of something else.
I don’t know why I’m sweating. We haven’t moved!
This is embarrassing. Ugh.
Why do we have to close our eyes while standing and deep breathing? I’m going to fall over.
If we play hip-hop during yoga, is it called the Downward Snoop Dogg? Hur hur.
I can’t touch my toes and put my forehead on my knees.
How can the women in this class be so graceful and flexible? Ah yes, they have no joints.
I hope the guy on the next mat takes this seriously.
He can’t stop making lame jokes to his friend in class and he is coughing at me.
He sounds phlegmy. Eeeww.
I didn’t sign up for Dickram Yoga!
I’m hungry. I need dinner ASAP after this.
Fried chicken sounds logical.
I need to adjust my penis.
That last ‘Tree’ pose threw it off, and it’s now trapped awkwardly, like James Franco in 127 Hours.
I’m going to discreetly put it back in its place without letting anyone see me.
I think four women saw me adjust my penis. Damn these floor-to-ceiling mirrors!
I know they saw me because they’re gagging.
I must avoid eye contact with them all.
*in downward dog*
My toenails are long. That’s borderline gross.
I should trim them before they fossilize.
The room has run out of oxygen.
My lungs are chugging along on everyone’s carbon dioxide.
Everyone else is glistening sexily.
I look like I did the Ice Bucket Challenge twice.
I’m perspiring in places I never knew I had pores.
Quite sure that includes the insides of my ears.
I need oxygen. I’m taking in 90% carbon dioxide, 7% pit smells and 3% oxygen.
Why isn’t the instructor opening the door to let cool air in?
There is no manly way to request for her to open the doors without looking like a little girl. I’d rather black out.
I shall hint by gasping for air instead. *gasps loudly*
She is still not opening the doors.
She is so tough!
*In a downward fold*
(crown of my head is on the mat while my butt is in the air)
Drops of sweat are sliding into my eyes and nostrils.
*blinks and snorts loudly*
This must be what water-boarding feels like.
*Full stretches out on back*
My fingers just grazed someone’s feet. And it was grimy.
Must resist urge to scream and wash my hands.
Note to self, DO NOT TOUCH OWN FACE AFTER THIS!
Must not let toxic bacteria from her feet party on my face.
I will then have the combination skin of Walking Dead zombies. No.
I smell farts.
They are being released quietly.
Why can’t people maintain their anal muscles. Why.
Dying. I can’t see through my sweat. Need air.
I’m gulping like a goldfish on the mat, and the instructor is not getting the hints.
She is out to destroy me.
Why do I punish myself?
I’m being baked alive.
This is NAM-MAST-DAZE.
I can live with a DadBod!
How can she tell us to breathe through our nostrils? They’re useless to me now.
I am blacking out.
Need pizza NOW.
I hope they cover my ass crack when they carry me out on a stretcher later.
This is the end.
I can do it.
I can do the back bend without dislocating my rib cage from my spine.
The floor towel is so wet it’s making squishy noises. I’m so classy.
Great, another series of deep breathing exercises.
This is like the first series, but with stankier air.
But it’s okay, I can die soon.
Success! Self-brutalisation Level 10 Unlocked!
This yogi is fantastic. She makes punishment feels so good.
I can’t move anything though. Let me lie here and pretend to meditate.
– Fade to black