Bikram yoga nearly killed me

Ok, in all my excitement about Getting In Shape! Looking Good! Losing Weight! I forgot about that part about 45 minutes into a class where my head starts spinning and I see black spots and I think I might collapse in a sweaty little heap on the floor. Luckily for me, there was a first timer on either side of me and so they were already in their miserable sweaty fetal position and even my half-assed participation looked pretty good next to that. Also, I forgot that 90 minutes is a long time to have to look in the mirror at the fat squished out over the top of the elastic band on your shorts. That really keeps the motivation high, I've got to say.

Overall it was good. Hard, but good. This gym is a lot nicer than the first one, most importantly, they have more showers so it takes less time to get out of the place. Of course, by the time I left the salle and got in line for a shower, all the Junior High girls were hogging the cubicles. You know the type- they need to get undressed, and dressed while hidden behind the curtain, thereby taking an extra 5-10 minutes in the cubicle while a line of sweaty naked women gets even steamier, watching the clock tick, tick, tick. I told the babysitter I would be home by 7 and I didn't even end up leaving the place until 7 and I still had a 20 minute walk ahead of me.

So I was absolutely exhausted by the class and I was walking home, down the sidewalk, like a floppy rag doll, my mind a million miles away. All of a sudden I felt my ankle start to twist sideways as I stepped on a wonky brick in the sidewalk. Bitter experience has shown me that if I feel this happening, its more dangerous to try and catch my balance than it is to just fall down. So I very dramatically flung myself to the ground like a sack of potatoes, sunglasses flying one direction, yoga mat in another. I could feel a twinge in my ankle so very gingerly I started to sit up. Naturally, there was someone dashing over to me, the poor woman had been walking behind me and thought I nearly killed myself. She flagged a passing taxi as well, thinking I would need to go straight to the hospital. I tried to find something wrong, but I've gotten so good at falling down (I've got quite a few sprained ankles under my belt) that there was nothing. I didn't even snag my tights. Its horribly embarrassing having to admit that it was just a little misstep. If you are trying to imagine what it looked like, think high-level soccer match and those fakey dives they take when they pretend to be injured, minus the sad face and hair pulling. I limped down to the corner though, just to be sure that there was nothing really wrong and to maintain a bit of self-respect.

This puts a bit of a damper on my plans for attending the 7 am class tomorrow morning. When I told B that I wanted to go, he just laughed, "Yeah right. Good luck with that 6:15 wake-up." Well, I totally would have done it, if I knew that my ankle was OK. But seriously, get out of bed 3 hours before my normal wake-up only to figure out half way to the gym that my ankle hurt too much to do the class? I don't think so. But I am totally there on Thursday. Pinkie swear.