Zen Annie.

I'm not much of a yoga person. I've probably been like 5 times in my life. Each time hot yoga. I guess I'm an extremist. For whatever reason I enjoy that more. I can't exactly quiet my mind like you're supposed to and my tree pose looks like it's in a wind storm. But there was a time that I did take a class and it went well.


I've been chasing that high ever since.

But, I did not find it during the most recent time I went...

I was hungover AF - emotionally and physically. Which really is less than ideal for hot yoga. You're dehyrdated to begin with and now putting yourself in a 90 degree room to exercise. But ya know, I had a rough 24 hours and I was ready to feel the zen I felt in 2015.

I laid on my mat. It was a small class. I waited patiently for the instructor to help me find my inner peace. And when she asked what my intention was during the next 60 minutes, I said to myself that it's to forget that my life is a hot fucking mess. Like so messy that it's probably wrong that I'm at yoga. But isn't that when we need it most?

Typically, in a yoga class they play some very nice elevator music. Like a Spotify station strictly for yogi elevators. But not today. No, today we start with Adele. Now if you know me (or if you know any female, honestly) Adele is a trigger. She's our girl but man does she trigger the feels. She triggers the feels when I'm standing, sober, in central air. Imagine it in this situation - sweating, with the spins, in silence. We were off to a bad start.

Now when you're hungover, it's hard to even stand. Let alone go from downward dog and to plank several times in a row. This was supposed to be gentle yoga, wasn't it? The blood is really rushing to my head. My face is numb. And not in the way the Weekend enjoys it to be, sadly. After about the third plank I chose to lay on my stomach for several minutes, dying a slow painful death. By this point I think only 20 minutes have passed. My fellow yogis are probably getting drunk off my vodka sweat that's filtering back into the air of the studio. Sorry friends.

At some point, the end draws near and we transition into happy baby pose. I don't find this pose to be as easy as everyone loves to pretend. It's more like this baby has tight hips from many years of inactivity and I can barely reach my toes, baby pose. But I'm thrilled to not to be inverted anymore and I've begun to regain proper blood circulation throughout my body. Eventually, after what felt to be many near death moments later, class comes to a close. And I receive my lavender infused towelette. Which is really the only reason I'm willing to pay $15 to the Hot Yoga Spot. So I can lay for 2 minutes with it over my face. It's truly worth it.

When I took the class that made me fall slightly in like with hot yoga, the instructor read a beautiful poem as I recovered with my luxurious lavender compress. So beautiful I even found it and pinned it on Pinterest. (you can read it here) She armed me with false hope that I truly needed and that's what I came back for this day. But no, I got no poem, no hope, no peace. All this bitch left me with was emotional scars from listening to Adele in a hot, steamy room with strangers and a rough case of pins and needles. So I had no choice but to go have a drink.