I walked into my first hot yoga class, prepared with my bottle of water and my yoga mat, excited about my new adventure.  I did beginner yoga and senior citizen classes but was curious about this yoga stuff in a hot room.  I thought that maybe I could sweat off a few pounds and get some exercise in the process.  Little did I know that all the other participants would be in their early 20s.  They were fashionable fit with their flowered designer yoga pants and skimpy little tops.  Their clothes would not have fit me when I was fifteen years old. Those yoga pants looked like they were designed for six-year-olds.  I am sure all of the young yogis were thinking, “Who is that old lady, and what is she doing here?”

I decided I would be discrete and put my yoga mat In the spot that was closest to the exit so that if I couldn’t do it, I could very quietly exit, and no one would realize that I was a hot yogi dropout.  However, my plans were squelched when a very young couple (they all look young to me these days) came in, and the wife asked me to move my yoga mat because she wasn’t sure that her husband could survive yoga in the heat.  I. wanted to say I was at the door for that very reason but decided to be gracious and move my yoga mat over.  Now a graceful exit would not be possible.

The instructor was very gracious, smiling, and, in the yoga spirit, wanting to welcome all of us, even the old lady in the class. She said in a very calming voice, “listen to your bodies and only do what your bodies tell you they can do.”  Good thing because later in the practice, my body went on strike over doing an inversion and the crow and half-moon pose.  My body would not cooperate with some of the twists and turns, but I was determined to stay with the program.

I was feeling pretty good about myself during the first fifteen minutes, which was a literal warm-up, even though I began to see the sweat drops on my mat.  I felt even better when the twenty-five-year-old husband, in a move that he thought was discrete but not unnoticed by me, picked up his yoga mat and left the room.  His wife looked at me, embarrassed that he couldn’t do what this old lady was still attempting.

I should have realized that the title of the class was not just hot yoga but was hot power flow yoga which meant I was expected to keep the pace with the others as they gracefully moved quickly from the down dog to the plank to the cobra to the upward facing dog.  I found myself being on the second step when everyone else had completed the flow series.  Thoughts like, “Could you slow it down a bit” or “How about if we just do one pose at a time?” permeated my brain, but I kept my mouth shut as I remembered to only do what my body could do, and this body could only move so fast.

Another realization hit me.  I had always participated in yoga sessions for 45 minutes with a 5-minute relaxation period at the beginning and a ten-minute one at the end when I would think, “I did it.”  I had not paid attention to the fact that this wasn’t a 45-minute class, and it was not a power flow hour.  Oh no, it was a 75-minute class.

By the time 45 minutes rolled around, and we were not in relaxation on our back, I was soaking wet, panting and puffing rather than engaging in rhythmic deep breathing.  I looked around at the others, violating the yoga rule of paying attention to your own body. Much to my surprise and pleasure, not all of the 25-year-olds could do all the poses, and some of them were struggling to get their bodies into some of the expected contortions.  I was not alone. This wasn’t easy for these youngsters.

Was I going to make it?  Positive self-talk emerged; I kept saying to myself, like in The Little Engine that Could,  I think I can, I think I can.”

I was never so glad to hear the instructor say, “let’s move into corpse position.” I knew the end was in sight.  I had been successful at my first hot power flow yoga class. After that wonderful relaxation of only five minutes, we all said, “Namaste,” and packed up our yoga mats and went home.

The yoga instructor may have been as surprised as I was that the old lady survived because she said, “I hope you’ll come back.”  I replied, “I think I will.”  I did return for over 2 years.