Hot Yoga: The New Calgon

I'm rationalizing that if I get a Christmas post up before Valentine's I avoid appearing tacky. I'd be able to feel the multiple eye rolls through cyberspace if I tried to pass it off as a new post around St. Patrick's Day.
But this is officially a new post. I'm just putting that out there first thing in hopes that the scary threatening emails and Facebook call outs can taper down now. Okay?... Mom.

What can I say, life has gotten insane. Most days I open my planner to see what we have going on and it's like an ink bloodbath. Nothing makes me want to crawl back into bed more than seeing the jam packed pages of my calendar.

Luckily, to handle the insanity, I have gotten Zen. I now approach stress like it is the tide. I wait for it to ebb and flow, all the while staying calm and steady.

Alright, alright, that's mostly garbage, but I have found a small island of peace in what I had originally thought was going to be yet another workout debacle. Hot Yoga.

People ask me: So what is Hot Yoga
Me: Well, it's Yoga you see.. and it's really hot...

I usually get a look that lets me know that explanation was a little less than helpful, but I promise it's actually extremely descriptive.

Every class offered is at least 90 degrees, with 60% humidity and the Fire class being the hottest at 98.6 degrees. Most mornings, I get Rhett off to work, the two older kids on the bus, Jackson shuttled off to preschool and Drew packed up and dropped off at the sitters. I then hurriedly race off to the yoga studio before anyone can pop up and inform me I have any more children or husbands to situate. You then grab a towel and mat and go lay in a wonderfully hot and dark room in relaxation pose. I do one more quick mental check: RhettJustinHannahJacksonDrew...yep, all taken care off...then I drift off to my happy place.

I truly love Yogis. (People who do yoga have given themselves a name.) You'll never meet a group of people more totally okay with looking ridiculous. They breathe weird, they move weird, they hold themselves in strange positions, all the while connecting themselves to their bodies and the Earth, with their mind. They name their positions crazy things like Half Tortoise and Strong Wind Relieving. Combine that with the fact that it's almost a 100 degrees and everyone is sweating out half their body weight, and it's safe to say you said goodbye to dignity and decorum at the door. As one who has made peace with looking like an idiot during group exercise long ago, I'm finding myself fitting in expertly. The yoga studio offers a variety of classes: Fire, Earth, Wood, Water and Metal, along with lengthy descriptions of what each one entails, but I can break it down for you real simple like.

Fire-Really hot. Like you landed on the sun and somehow survived hot.

Earth-A Yogi way to imply: all fitness levels can handle it.

Wood-You only thought you had Ab muscles.

Water-Same as fire, but in the dark and done by candlelight with music. Kinda creepy. Kinda fantastic.

Metal-So hard you want to cry.

I discovered yoga about 10 years ago and have done it off and on, but apparently what is old is new again. My rejuvenated love for Yoga has translated to 90 minutes of an odd combination of pain and peace. Maybe that's the balance they keep wanting you to achieve. You will hurt, and you will like it.

Anyways. Ten days with 7 siblings, 9 grandchildren, 2 parents and I think even a Partridge in a Pear Tree, equal alot of pictures and also the accompanying brain power to organize it all in a cohesive post. I will get it done.

The light in me, acknowledges the light in you. Namaste