Hot Yoga

”I don’t know if yoga is killing me or saving me”. Those were my thoughts as I blinded by my own sweat stood in ‘half moon pose’ concentrating on my breath and not tipping over.  After 60 minutes of ‘Hot Yoga’ – yeah that is what they call it here in West Hollywood – I felt straight up drunk. Drunk and soaked by my own sweat. I know: gross!

In the locker room, after practice, I put left my cowboy boot on my right foot and vice versa without noticing and I had serious trouble walking straight home. Good thing I live only 2 blocks from ‘Sweat Hell’.

What the ‘H’ happened? Well, I got back into LALALAND last night super hungover and tired of months of traveling and felt I need a clean up and some focus. So, I signed up for one month of unlimited yoga at a nice Yoga joint near by, secretly hoping that I by mid February will be more flexible than Madonna’s 19 year old back-up dancers and have a firmer derriere than any of the Sports Illustrated models. Well… perhaps not, but at least they promise me 60 – 90 minutes in ‘sweat hell’ as often as I please where I will face my demons and where I cannot run or escape anywhere pleasant or extraordinary. Instant gratification pangs are put on hold for now.

Just in case you were wondering, facing the facts and going into all the juicy drama and circus I have inside is a good thing. I have to. Other wise I spin and twirl out of control until reality catches up and smacks me in the head. Been there, done that and loathing it. I can’t say it won’t happen again because I like to make my own rules and reality plays policeman when I do that. But hey! I’m just a woman, and I’m just trying. On this note, I’m reasoning that the yogis call it ‘to practice yoga’ because it is exactly that. A practice and not perfect. Meaning I am still learning. I am constantly in a process. We all are. And that sort of helps and calms me on some pseudo level.  

So tomorrow it’s back to auditioning (and yoga) and I finally have some time to get my original big black and white Photographs of Andy Warhol from the 70’s framed. They are shot by Anton Perich and I have wanted to redo and re-decorate my place for a while. Now is the time. Dunno if it is the yoga or just 2012 that brings up the renewal syndrome.

Ok, I’m out people. Have a wonderful night or day where ever you are.

Namaste and love from West Hollywood… 😉

Photography by Anton Perich