A few weeks ago, I mentioned I’d been doing hot yoga for awhile. I’ve been in and out of town over the last couple weeks, consequently today was my first time back at it in about 10 days. I went to a different class time than I usually go to and it was a little fuller than the 6am class usually is. Not to mention it seemed a little hotter than usual today.

Somehow, I managed to be sandwiched in between three men and the wall. Not that I minded or than their gender matters (other than the fact that men seem to sweat more in hot yoga), although the gentleman to my right was taking himself a little too seriously.

Everyone sweats in hot yoga. I, who do not sweat much on the court or field, even sweat in hot yoga. I don’t mind sweat; after all, it is cleaning out my body. On the other hand, I definitely mind other people’s sweat. So when said gentleman to my right enthusiastically swung his arms up on the FIRST POSE after the initial breathing exercise and showered me with a spray of his sweat, I knew it would not be a good class.

I spent a good portion of the rest of the class striving to stay out of the way of his spray.

At about halfway through the class, we transition from standing poses to mat poses. At this point I noticed that gentleman to the front of me is sweating profusely. How I missed this earlier, I do not know. All I know is at this point, his towel on top of his mat is drenched and it has begun to overflow to the floor. This would have been fine (although gross) if the overflow had not been snaking its way towards me. Fortunately, the class ended before I had to contemplate critical measures. I emerged, drenched with (mostly) my own sweat and will live to yoga another day.