Can You Handle the Heat?: Hot Yoga in Beijing

Steam hissed from the ceiling. Bare skin, glossy with sweat, lay heaving all around me. No, I wasn’t on the set of some porn film. I was at hot yoga, feeling faint. And the class hadn’t even begun yet.

Too late to back out now. I dabbed uselessly at my forehead with a single small towel. Minutes before, I’d tucked away the spare in my locker.

“I’m not one to sweat,” I’d informed my friend confidently. She’d shaken her head but said nothing, a knowing smile on her lips.

I discovered soon enough that here, stickiness is as inevitable as fate. You see, the heat and humidity in the studio is intended to simulate the conditions in which traditional yoga was practiced. Advocates argue that in temperatures of 90-105 degrees Fahrenheit, your body becomes more pliable, reducing your risk of injury and releasing the build-up of toxins.

Certainly, I felt my muscles melting. Every small movement sapped my energy and left me feeling wan and weak. Even raising my arm was no small feat.

This, of course, was a problem when we were expected to perform absurdly complex poses, which included folding one leg under the other while remaining upright, bending your body backwards into an upside-down “U,” and lunging for excruciatingly long periods of time.

Did I mention the class is 90 minutes long? Every time I glanced at the clock I was gripped by more panic. Thank god for the reminders to carry on with slow, deep breathing. It kept the hyperventilation at bay.

We repeated the same positions over and over with seemingly no time to rest in between. Puddles of perspiration splashed onto my yoga mat. (No one cared. It was happening to them too.) Two people walked out shamefacedly.

I eyed our teacher – petite, graceful and scarily thin – with wonder. She’d hardly even broken a sweat, her perfect eyeliner hadn’t budged and she continued to call out gentle corrections and encouragement as necessary.

Nothing will compare to the moment I was finally given permission to leave that room. That shock of cool air, the relief from dampness. I’d never felt so gratified in my life to breathe in Beijing pollution.

I spotted the teacher changing in the space next to me. “I’m so glad you finished,” she told me breezily, still looking as unsweaty as ever. “The first class is never easy. Great job.”

I glowed. (Or was it the sweat?) I stumbled dizzily outside. That night, I passed out at 9pm and slept for 10 straight hours. The next morning I felt thin and lithe, my skin baby-smooth and my body wholly replenished. I almost felt tempted to try again. Almost.

Sweat it out at Pacific Century Club. See www.bikrambeijing.weebly.com for the weekly schedule of classes.

Photo courtesy of Flickr user Ron Sombilon.