The hot room has a knack for redefining things—your body, your attitudes, your sense of discipline—provided you go consistently. One unanticipated consequence of continuous practice: a revision of my definition of a three letter word.
There was hot before Bikram Yoga. A bad summer day in the city—low 90s, high humidity—that was hot. A third floor apartment with no AC during that same day—unbearably hot.
Hot after yoga: definitely not that sweltering day in July. And not that same day with no AC. “Shit, I’ve done yoga in way, way worse heat. This ain’t so bad.”
I’ve said it before: I hate being hot. Me and Bikram Yoga are as unlikely a couple as Flava Flav and Brigitte Nielsen. And I’m not going to sit here and tell you that I suddenly love the heat. But 18 months in and out of the hot room has recalibrated my sense of what’s brutally hot and what’s tolerably hot. Trust me, the ideal Bikram room is 105 degrees, but there are days where it’s 115. Suddenly, a humid 95 doesn’t seem like such a big deal.
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