Yesterday was my 10th Bikram Yoga class. 10 times over 6 months, that doesn’t exactly qualify me as a yoga buff, does it? However, for those who know me, including my own self, this must be sufficiently surprising because I don’t believe in exercise. The human body is like a battery; if you overuse it, it will drain out soon, I have always openly maintained.

How I got into it was by highly tailored persuasion. “Just try it once for fun. You know you have to run your printer every now and then, even if you don’t have anything important to print out, for the purpose of better maintenance of it, right? It’s like that.” This appealed to me. The lesson here is that one should know one’s audience. If you are talking to a borderline nerd, use metaphors that he/she would understand. Anyway, so I went – and literally LAY DOWN through the first session. Like reliving the memories of those PE classes in my 5th grade all over again. To add insult to injury, I don’t do heat very well. My face was so red and my heart was so pounding that at one point, I suspected (while still lying down) that I had some heart condition that I had been unaware of.

Then how come I kept going back 9 more times? That’s the thing. If I don’t go back, now my body signals I need exercise, which was never the case. Or more likely that I didn’t notice the signals before and now I can’t help but do, which reminds me of one of Dara O’Briain’s stand-up routines. (The relevant bit comes around 1:40 but I would watch the whole thing.)

I am not exactly complaining here. I must admit that it feels great drinking a small carton of coconut water on the way home from the centre. What’s my problem then? It’s just that … I hate the feeling when I unpack something and can’t stuff it back in as it was.


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