Hot yoga – 234th Edition

A tiny woman is kicking my ass. Except for a couple of absent variables, I’m pretty sure I’ve had this dream before. But no, I’m very much awake, sweating like it’s Judgement Day and I sucker-punched St. Peter. Or, more accurately, like a Minnesotan in the sweltering studio at Bikram Yoga Green Valley. It’s my 10th consecutive class, a point that marks, as the teachers say, the day you feel like you have a new body. As I lay face-down on a drenched yoga mat, I don’t know if I’d go that far. But something is different.

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