Bikram Yoga - the thinking woman's sport.

I have been twice now and am therefore an exponent of the art.

Picture forty plus yoga-mat toting people crammed into a room heated to 38 degrees and rising. The door is then smartly closed and a heavily tattooed, American (from Arizona of course)board short wearing, bairded guru enters the room. His visual siezes your attention and his charismatic voice holds it.

You are taken on a journey of bliss....warmth, soothing directions/incantations, focusing on every inch of your body, the good the bad and the ugly as you stretch, hold and shake your way through the 28 poses over a 90 minute period.

Sweat, not perspiration as that would imply a light glow as opposed to a serious dripping, emits from your every pore and joins in soaking your conveniently placed bath towel. It drips into you eyes mercifully blinding you from you own image in the wall to wall mirroring.

Just when you think you are about to lose your breakfast or faint in the heat the poses wind down to a light contortion culminating in an ungodly backward bend that I may be able to achieve once I have a couple of vertebrae removed.

First time, frightening, second time, less frightening bordering on semi do-able. My goals to stretch and slow down are achieved in this 90 minutes of heated hell. The only thing missing is the horned red man with the pointy fork....