The End of the Beginning

08 Jul 2013 4 Comments

by Hannah in 30-Day Challenge, Bikram Yoga Tags: , , , , , , ,

“The practice itself, done consistently and accurately, is the real teacher.” -Tim Miller

As my friend Julie and I walked into the foreign studio for my 30th Bikram class in 30 days, I was surprised by how calm I felt. This was supposed to be a landmark, a momentous occasion, a practice to be forever remembered. I thought my hands would feel jittery as I laid out my mat, at least. But I only felt steady and serene as I told the instructor at the front desk that this was the last day of my 30-day challenge. (Humble anonymity just isn’t really my thing.)

The instructor, a kind-faced woman named Louise, recognized my name as I wrote it down on the sign-in list. I recognized her as well, and she quickly explained that she had taught my mom for years. Louise was one of my mom’s favorite instructors of all time! Even if I wasn’t finishing out my challenge at my home studio, it was comforting to know that I was still in good hands. And as I looked around, I realized that I recognized a fair number of yogis from my home studio in and around the hot room. Suddenly the foreign studio didn’t feel so foreign. This could be a good place to cross the finish line after all.

Julie and I set up our mats and then headed towards the bathroom. Her long auburn hair was in a loose braid down her back; mine was tangled in what could’ve been an abandoned ostrich nest on top of my head. (The last time Julie had come to practice with me, she noted that the whole shebang would’ve been much easier if we were bald. I heartily agreed.) The bathroom line was unusually long, but I have to imagine everyone was thinking the same thing we were: the only thing harder than doing a Bikram yoga class would be doing a Bikram yoga class whilst having to pee.

And then, something miraculous happened.

“Excuse me, are you Hannah?” A woman with dark hair asked from behind us in line. I’d definitely seen her in class before.

“Yes, I’m Hannah,” I answered in surprise.

“Oh, I was just reading your blog!” the woman exclaimed, “I absolutely love it, it is so funny.”

My jaw actually dropped. Could this be? I have a fan? I’m getting recognized now?!

“Thank you!” I answered, sputtering like I’d just been dunked in ice water. “Thank you so much, you have no idea how much that means to me.” My hands were clammy. My heart rate was through the roof. Julie and I just beamed at each other. If it was possible to be starstruck by my own sense of stardom, then I was. But the wonderful woman wasn’t finished yet.

“This is Hannah,” she turned to her friends, “she has a blog about her 30-day challenge. It’s hilarious and smart and insightful; you guys should really check it out.” The women behind her in line smiled at me and nodded, muttering things like oh yes, of course and well that sounds awesome, we’ll have to look it up. It felt like one of those moments I’d talk about on a radio show with Ryan Seacrest ten years from now, when one of my books tops the New York Times Bestseller List. (“Hannah, when did you first know that you had hit it big?” “Well, Ryan, it all began in the bathroom line at a Bikram yoga studio…”)

Was this real life? Had I died and gone to blogger heaven? Julie, a fellow writer and one of my best editors, looked just as excited as I felt. As soon as the women rounded the corner to enter the bathroom, we turned to each other and high-fived with such enthusiasm, we could’ve been third graders on the playground who just won a round of partner tag. We took our turns in the bathroom, smiled some more, and entered the hot room with our heads held high.

The heat that had once felt so oppressive and evil now seemed to greet me with a familiar, sweaty embrace. Since Day 1, my body has been changing. I don’t mind the sweat much anymore; in fact, sometimes it feel like I’m not sweating enough. I can stand on a locked knee for more than just a few seconds. I can latch my fingers onto my big toes when the instructor tells us to bring our foreheads to our feet. I can see my foot start to drift over my head as I kick back into standing bow.

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My butt still isn’t anywhere close to the ground when I sit on my knees. Nearly every instructor I’ve had seems perplexed by this particular inflexibility, Louise included. But rather than be embarrassed by my arrestingly tight ligaments, I’ve come to think of them as a distinguished characteristic. You know, like a wooden cane or a monocle. I’m just that girl with the tight knees. (Not to say that I’m going to stop working at stretching them out. Rome wasn’t built in a day.)

Louise’s enthusiasm during practice was infectious and her cues were fantastic. Focusing would’ve been easier if my mind hadn’t been so busy singing its excitement to the tune of 50 Cent (go Hannah, it’s Day 30, we gonna party like it’s day 30), but I was able to shut her up after the first couple of poses. I drifted in and out of the zone. I breathed through my nose. I let the sweat run freely down my face.

Every practice is exactly the same, but also completely different. I’ve come to love that about Bikram yoga. The heat might be stifling, the practice might seem endless, and the sweat might actually go up your nose, but the dialogue never changes. The only thing that changes is you.

Just before Louise told us to lie down for the final shavasana of the class, another miracle happened.

“Congratulations, Hannah, on completing your 30-day challenge!” she announced. And, as if on cue, the room erupted in claps and cheers. A full, boisterous round of applause. I could only look at Julie in ecstatic awe. All I need now is a picture with the Pope, and all my wildest yoga dreams will have come true.

And so, ladies and gentlemen, my Bikram yoga 30-day challenge has been completed. I feel happy, healthy, and fully qualified in claiming sweat to be a very close friend. It wasn’t always fun, and it was almost never easy. But in the words of Kelly Clarkson, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger (because your muscles will adapt to the poses eventually), stand a little taller (because the spine strengthening series really helps with lower back pain), doesn’t mean you’ll smell good when you get home. Or something.

I’ve received buckets upon buckets of fan mail begging me not to stop blogging, and I’ve had to change my phone number due to an overwhelming number of teary calls from readers who knew my 30-day challenge was coming to an end. But please don’t fret, my devoted fan base-

THE BLOGGING WILL CONTINUE!

I repeat, the blogging will continue. My big challenge finish wasn’t the end of my yoga adventure, but rather an extended beginning. I’ve become something of a yoga addict. There’s a very real possibility that if I stopped now, I’d start to look a lot like Christian Bale in The Fighter. Not to mention I’ve had a pretty awesome time describing my sweat in painstaking detail and cracking cheesy jokes for you guys, so I hope you’ll join me in weeks to come for more yoga adventures.

This week I’ll be trying some Vinyasa yoga. Upward facing dog, downward dog, sideways dog, hot dog, you name it- I’ll be all up in that business. Check in next Monday to see how it goes. (I have to imagine my Vinyasa skills can’t be any worse than my Bikram skills, right? Right?!)

Namaste,
Hannah

P.S. I know I promised pictures of the Pope, but for some reason he never responded to my invitation. Feel free to enjoy celebratory sweaty pictures of Julie and me instead.

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“Don’t put this on the Internet.” -Julie

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High School Musical levels of excited

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“Hannahsana”

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(impromptu sweaty dance party)

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“Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of joy you must have somebody to divide it with.” -Mark Twain

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The (Danger) Zone

24 Jun 2013 3 Comments

by Hannah in 30-Day Challenge, Bikram Yoga, The Zone Tags: , ,

I participated in a hypnotist show in my senior year of high school. If you’ve never seen a hypnotist show, it looks something like a charismatic zookeeper directing a slapstick improv show with a loyal cast of obedient monkeys. Except the zookeeper is a certified professional, and the monkeys are high school students who have actually volunteered to publicly humiliate themselves. Believe me, there aren’t a lot of things funnier than one of your good friends threatening to pull his pants down in front of a packed auditorium. (Sorry, Mike.)

But what does this have to do with yoga, you may ask? Well, a state of hypnosis and a state of meditation are more or less the same state of mind. One may lead you to believe you can dance like Shakira, while the other may lead you to personal discovery and peace, but they both start off with the same goal: complete mental stillness.

Mental stillness has never really been my forte. You see, my mind is a bit of a spitfire. She never shuts up, she sounds like the rejected bits of a subpar comedy routine most of the time, and she really, really likes fart jokes. But I’ve always welcomed her comments because after all, she is me, and I’m pretty awesome.

So when the hypnotist told all the girls onstage, magnificently slumped across our chairs in a state of hypnotic sleep, that we would find our first names hysterically funny when he snapped his fingers, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised that my mind rebelled. A familiar voice broke through the fog of hypnotic tranquility. What the hell? My name isn’t funny at all. Maybe if I were named Eugene, or Beatrice, or Olga. Heh heh, Olga.

And just like that I was back in my own busy head, all hope of properly disgracing myself in front of a crowd of my peers totally gone. I quickly exited the stage to join my friends in the audience and figured complete mental stillness probably just wasn’t for me.

In the Bikram studio, the instructors are kind of like our hypnotists- the charismatic zookeeper to our crazed monkeys, if you will. In a perfect yoga world, we would hear the teacher’s words, moving only when we are cued to do so. We would find stillness in each posture at the deepest point we could possibly reach, breathing steadily in and out through our noses. We would think of nothing besides those words, our movement, and our breath. In the real world, I’m usually either swearing to myself or trying to decide what to eat for lunch.

But there have been moments, gloriously magical moments, where I’ve glimpsed the universe beyond my mind’s persistent (and usually wiseass) personality. It’s like a peaceful field of lilies swaying beside an infinite blue ocean of serenity. It’s a place where a Bikram practice doesn’t feel like three years in a wormhole, but 90 satisfying minutes in a hot room. It’s a present, relaxed, aware state of being that my good friend and fellow blogger Mandy likes to call “the zone.”

(I understand if the Top Gun theme song just started playing in your head, and if it didn’t, you’re welcome for the reminder that this cheesy-awesome 80’s masterpiece still exists.)
In the zone, there are no complaints, no anxieties, no judgments. There aren’t even any fart jokes. There’s just you, your breath, and your body. It’s a hard place to find, and it’s an even harder place to stay. But when you’re in the zone, you’re free.

Class on Day 21 started with a lot of complaining. I had woken up before 7 AM, worked in the (unbelievably hot and humid) sun all day, and eaten a lot of junk food while pondering my own sticky misery. By the time I got to the studio at 4:30 that afternoon, I was anticipating Bikram Armageddon. There was no way class could go well with all the shit I’d just eaten. It’d be a wonder if I could stay awake for 90 minutes after baking in the sun for so long, let alone partake in strenuous sweaty exercise. The humidity levels in the hot room would probably be something approaching a scene from Dante’s Inferno. But I trudged into that studio anyway, dragging my mat, towel, and mother along with me because that’s what I do now. I go to yoga.

Standing on a locked knee some time later, trying to extend my other leg toward the front mirror while holding my foot, I could have been miserable. There was a small and familiar voice telling me how hard this pose was, how tight my hamstrings were, how I’d probably never be able to extend my leg even if I practiced for years. The voice was tired, and she was complaining, and she had made a joke about how frizzy my hair had gotten in the humidity. But she didn’t have to be there. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and shoved her aside. All my energy went into my focused gaze at my locked knee in the mirror. I grabbed my foot, extended my leg, shook a little, and breathed through my nose. Sweat dripped onto my towel. My eyes didn’t blink. Push. Breathe.

I stood with one leg locked and the other almost fully extended for exactly three seconds. I was in the zone, and it was incredible.

(I know it’s not technically the danger zone, but how awesome would that be if next time I was in the zone Tom Cruise was hanging out in there too? And Goose? And maybe Iceman?)

So whether you’re sweating in a hot yoga studio or prancing around like a hypnotized chimpanzee onstage, it’s nice to take some time every now and then to really check in with yourself. Maybe you call it the zone, or mindfulness, or meditation, or even voluntary hypnosis. But no matter the name, I would recommend giving it a try. You might be surprised at what you can do when your mind isn’t being a huge asshole.

Namaste,
Hannah