So, my husband just caught me reading about Russell Crowe’s thighs on the Daily Mail website. I don’t know what I was thinking. I really do like Our Russ but I don’t go around dreaming of the man’s legs. Of course I blamed the blog. “Oh, I was just reading up on something for the blog. Your legs are looking very manly, by the way.”
|“You should see my thighs! You should see my thighs!”|
This means I now have to write about Russell Crowe’s thighs. Excellent. Well, they are big. Apparently he does 100 squats at a time. If I could manage more than ten squats at one time I would want more than just toned thighs to show for it. I’d expect my thighs to have magical, superhero properties; they should propel me through the sky, enable me to see the future and grant three wishes to anyone who doesn’t piss me off. Magical thighs. Now there’s a thought.
That’s really all I have to say about Rusty’s thighs. So I will see if I can manage a smooth segue into the topic I was initially aiming to write about: bikram yoga. Here is the transition…. squats, of which Mr Crowe can do many, are about as pleasant as bikram yoga.
I have done yoga off and on since I was 12 years old. That does imply a certain level of ability doesn’t it, although sadly that is misleading. But I have been meaning to try bikram yoga for a few years, and when a local practice (yoga place? yoga house? place where they do yoga?) had a cheap introductory offer, I bought a voucher for 10 classes.
If you don’t have a clue what I’m on about, bikram yoga is yoga done in a hot and humid room. I’ve met countless people who swear by it. I love steam rooms and saunas and I love yoga – surely a marriage of the two would be my Next Big Thing? Sign me up!
So I went along. I got there nice and early, so lay myself quietly on the floor. I focused on my breathing – which really is just in and out but for some reason we love to complicate this – while waiting for the class to start. Then I began to feel uncomfortable. And slightly panicked. I wanted to leave. I had been in the room for twenty minutes and the class hadn’t even started yet. That was a mistake. If you are about to do a bikram yoga class for the first time, take it from me, only go into the room as the class is about to start. Being in that room any longer than the 90 minutes is as pleasant as doing more than ten squats.
The class started. I tried not to faint and instead concentrated on the actual yoga. But it was so hot and sticky, and with all that audible exhaling I swear everyone’s stale breath was making a bee-line straight for me. Blurgh. The men were all topless and their sweat was literally dripping onto the floor, forming growing stinky puddles. There was a woman wearing a strapless string bikini. Ever exercised in a strapless string bikini? String bikinis are not my friend, but should I ever wear one, I shall not be lifting my leg for those around me to get an eyeful of sweaty crotch. Not a good look. Having said that, she had an amazing body so if that’s what bikram yoga does then OMG.
Anyway, the class went for 90 minutes and I spent the entire time fighting off a panic attack. I was convinced I was going to pass out or explode. I made it to the end of the class, I’m still here, and for some reason I plan to go back. You see, whenever I tell someone I tried bikram yoga they squeal and go “Isn’t the first class horrible!! But make sure you go back!”
I can see its potential so I’ll let you know how it goes. In the meantime I am drinking a shitload** of water in preparation.
**A “shitload” is the standard unit of measurement in Australia