In January 2005 I weighed a good 150 pounds more than I did yesterday, when I mailed my application for teacher training at the Bikram Yoga seminar in San Diego, starting September 19th. In January 2005, if you'd have told me I'd become a teacher of any kind, let alone a freaking hot yoga instructor, I would have assumed you had recently stubbed out a Pete-Tosh-worthy blunt.
Mind yez, I felt like I'd smoked a big cannon after leaving Canada Post and realizing that, er, another life change was on the way. A life change that had its start in the unlikeliest of circumstances, giving a stranded bicyclist a ride home. So all this is simply a result of letting karma have its way with me.
The instructors at Bikram Yoga Saanich have been kind and encouraging all the way, and while part of me keeps wanting to ask, "Hey, you know I'm 47, right? Like at least 20 to 25 years older than most of the instructors at this studio?" -- I know I never will.
Five and a half years ago I sweated torrentially just walking up a flight of stairs. Now, *on purpose,* I'm heading off to sweat torrentially for six hours a day, interspersed with lectures. Sweat was such a stigma in my younger years. Now it's marketable, by God.
Hence "The Sweaty Gazette," a ramble through the middle-aged beginner yogini experience.
Two weeks ago my back spasmed severely. This evening I broke a molar in half, lengthwise. While I doubt my chewing ability will have much involvement in teaching Bikram yoga, the spinegraine is a little worrying. However, even the younger yogis at Saanich have had the odd ache and twinge.
So here goes flappy-bodied me to be surrounded by titanium-bellied students. Stay tuned.