Humble pie

I almost killed myself yesterday. It was awful.

I decided on Saturday, after having a celebratory mimosa with Jacquie on her birthday in the late morning, that it was so delicious I was going to pick up a bottle of my favorite ruby cuvee and drink it that evening.

I also decided on Saturday that I needed to use a yoga groupon that I had purchased a few months back. The expiration was quickly approaching and the owner of the studio was teaching the 10 am class. Perfect.

Well, the champagne was delicious, I enjoyed it immensely. I felt okay when I woke up, a bit dehydrated, so I was careful to drink a few glasses of water before leaving for class.

I checked in, which was quick because I answered yes to the "Have-you-ever-done-Bikram-yoga-before?" question.

I entered the studio, picked out a spot in the center second row, and waited for the class to begin. I was looking forward to it, It had been more than 6 months since my last Bikram class, and I was hopeful that the proprietor/teacher would be inspiring and make me remember why I sweated and toiled through so many prior Bikram classes.

The breathing exercise went okay, but I got this crazy tingling sensation in my arms during the first posture. Stroke came to mind. But I decided it was actually the opposite of the lack of feeling that often accompanies a stroke. I pushed through the next 5 or 6 postures, but it was hard. It was difficult to keep my breath under control, and was feeling worse and worse. I sat out a posture. Then another few. We switched from the standing postures to the floor postures. I managed to do the first 4 out of 5 of these, but that was it. I could go no further. I wanted to hurl. My head was spinning, I could do nothing but lay there. Even that was a struggle. It was so hot. I wanted to flee. But honestly, I didn't know if I could make it to the door. I was immobilized. I was beyond even feeling embarrassed for being such a milksop. I was just trying to concentrate on feeling better.

Class finally ended. A cold lavender-scented towel was given to me, and promptly placed on my over-heated face. It was helpful. The cold towel changed to room temperature. Still I remained. Eventually I dragged myself to the dressing room, where I proceeded to sit on the floor -- getting my clothes out of the cubby and onto my body seemed too much of a feat. Most people were gone. One woman who remained asked me if I was okay. Reflexively I said yes. I should have asked if she would carry me out to my car.

I did finally get up, pull on my clothes, and shuffle to my car. After a minute or two with my head resting on the steering wheel, I started the engine and drove home in a weird zombie-like state.

Upon arrival, I made it to the bathroom, promptly laid on the floor, and enlisted my husband to turn on the shower and get me some cold water. He thought, by the looks of me, a bath might be a better idea. ("Sure you can stand up in there?")

I survived the shower, put on robe, picked up a book at fell promptly asleep. I am not a day napper.

When we met friends at Pizza Port, a local brewery and pizza place, for an early dinner last night, I opted for orange soda. Orange soda! They have a bazillion craft beers there.

Oh my, my, what a chastening experience. I am not the yogini I imagined myself to be. My fears of joining the circus and not being able to then make it through a Bikram class have come true. I am no longer a bad ass.

I guess there is nothing else to do but eat my pie.