Melting hot yoga

First bikram in four months, went a little something like this:

I get there fifteen minutes early to get a good spot. The room is carpeted, I HATE that. It smells like wet dog in here. The walls are decorated with pictures of Bikram Choudhury doing yoga on top of a tiger. I have no idea why. The teacher, Linda,  learns my name a bit too quickly for my taste, and already at the half moon pose (which is basically the first one) she's shouting "Move your shoulder forwards, Silia! Come on! Stretch stretch stretch! Goooood!"

In "awkward pose" my legs are shaking so badly I'm afraid of falling down flat on my face. During all of the standing postures, I keep thinking "open the door, open the door, open the door" because it is bloody hot in there. I don't mean "only" bikram yoga hot, which is around 40 degrees, I mean fucking hellishly hot and humid. I do get a boost when Linda says my eagle pose is great. But when we can finally lay down in savasana, dead body pose, which is exactly what it sounds like, you could swipe me off the floor and squeeze me like a towel (God, how I love savasana). Once we're down on the floor it's easier, and I have an old surfer next to me who's in SERIOUS trouble, so I'm not the worst of the class, which, I do admit, makes me feel a bit better. Camel pose, which is usually one of my favourites, almost makes me throw up, and I only do the second part half-heartedly. And then, before I can complain a lot more with my inner voice, it's over, and I'm in savasana again, and I remember why I love this so much. Yes, I would go through 90 minutes of torture, just to get that feeling I have when it's all over. It's BLISS.