A few years ago, a fellow PR major and classmate opened a yoga studio, Sumits Hot Yoga. I always wanted to try it, but was convinced I would pass out. I mean, I almost pass out in a hot shower. So my fear always kept me out of the studio. About a year ago, my pal Mal started pressuring me to try it out. Knowing how much I'm a slave to my calendar, she even went as far as putting invites on my calendar. Through a series of events, I finally decided I would take the plunge.
I look nothing like this - source |
And I fell in love with it. I know. I was as surprised as anyone. I really thought I would hate it. But within a week, I caught myself wanting to go every day. And then this happened.
It was a Monday. I had a cleaning at the dentist (perfect!). I had about 30 minutes between the cleaning and class. Anytime I have short snippits of time, I like to time myself doing a task that I loathe, mainly unloading the dishwasher. In my haste, I dropped the first glass I grabbed to put away. Awesome. I tip-toed out of there, put on some flippy-floppies and returned to the scene to clean. I swept. I quickly mopped. And I ran a wet towel over the area to pick up any shards left behind.
Cut to the next night and I ram a rather large piece of glass into the side of my foot. It was very apparent I did not clean the area very well. And folks, this cut was a bleeder. Within minutes my kitchen looked like a scene from CSI: Miami. It was a mess.
So you see, hot yoga is a terrible idea. Had I not been in a rush to go do something semi-healthy, I would have never unloaded my dishwasher (let alone do it under pressure). I would have never dropped a glass. I would have never sliced my foot open.
The end.