Feeling the Heat

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Oh my God. It is SO HOT IN HERE! When will it be over? Why did I come? I could be outside running in the park where it’s so much cooler! I’m in a Bikram Yoga East Side class with yoga teacher Viraz Santani. He wears nothing but a pair of swimming briefs, and while he’s not doing the postures, his body glistens with perspiration like the rest of us.

“Yank your toe hard! Press your knee down! Come on yoginis and yogis. PUSH! PUSH! PULL! Don’t let your thumbs go!” The temperature in the room is over 100 degrees, and sweat drips from my face onto my yoga mat like a leaky faucet. I sneak another peek at the clock. The hands are not moving. Stop looking, I tell myself. Viraz bends over a male student and barks, “Get your two fingers around your toes. Stop dropping your head. Push your knees down. Push! PUSH! Why aren’t you breathing?”

“I have sweat in my eyes,” the man replies.

“You come up with the lamest excuses,” Viraz says and then snaps his fingers. “Sit up!” We spin around, sit up and repeat the posture. “Squeeze your toes tight,” he yells.  “You want benefits? Sometimes you’ve got to struggle to make progress. You think it’s going to come to you on a gold platter?” 

Viraz has been teaching yoga for 14 years and was New York City’s first male Bikram yoga teacher. Even though he never stops talking and yelling and admonishing us just like a drill sergeant, he rarely does it without making us laugh. He was, after all, a stand-up comic. Without his humor, I don’t think I’d be able to withstand this inferno. When he barks at us, he says it’s only because he’s trying to get us to do the postures perfectly.

It begins from the first breathing exercise, in which we inhale while raising our elbows, then exhale through open mouths, making an audible “haaaah” sound before lowering our elbows again. “Open your mouth wide like you’re having a wisdom tooth taken out,” says Viraz.

When we do Awkward Pose and sit squatting down on our heels, as if balancing a laptop, Viraz usually finds someone scowling and says, “You look like you’re constipated. Smile.” And if I don’t crack up then, I lose it during Triangle Pose,  which we start by raising our arms straight out like a warrior and Viraz says: “Spread ’em out hard. You shouldn’t have any cottage cheese hanging from your triceps.”

It’s hard to laugh when you’re going through contortions in a room hotter than a broiling oven, but how can you not guffaw in the middle of a backbend when he says, “Squeeze your butt as though you’re trying to crack open a Brazil nut.” We do Spinal Twist, he yells, “Come on! Push! Press the heel of your hand. It should feel like a near-death experience.” He picks out one student, bends down and tells the student, “Twist. Use that tricep!”  He pushes until finally the student twists a good three inches further. “See?” Viraz grins, “I should charge you for that. I just gave you a nice adjustment. A chiropractor would charge $75.”

Now the heat is really getting to me, and I am  relieved when we finally reach the last breathing exercise: two rounds of exhaling 50 breaths very quickly. “Squeeze your abs. Bend into that liver and pancreas.” Viraz looks at a female student. “Did you have a deprived childhood? Didn’t you learn how to blow out a birthday candle? Squeeze! Squeeze!”  He counts down at the end of the second set: “Four! Three! Two! One! Now you deserve to relax. Completely let go.”

In every other yoga class I’ve ever taken, I’ve looked forward to relaxation, during which I just lie comatose and breathe. But not here. I’m exhausted, my clothes are dripping and even though he’s just turned off the heat, the room is still a furnace.  I squirm.  I can’t get comfortable. “Close your eyes,” he says. “Take a deep breath through the nose. Feel the nectar.” Nectar? What is he talking about? I am dying to stand up, spray down my mat and have cold water rain down on me in the shower. Nectar? A smoothie! That’s what I want right now. He looks right at me. “Do I have to tell you how to relax?” he says, “Let go! It’s a choice to hold onto negative energy.”

I lie there. I hate this class because it’s so hard and uncomfortable, but I remind myself that I got through it one more time. I can’t stand the heat because it’s so unpleasant, but my muscles are so warm that I can stretch deeper than ever. I detest the postures because they’re so tough, but since I’ve been coming here I haven’t had another hamstring injury. So maybe Viraz is right.  Maybe I am holding onto negative energy after all.  I close my eyes and smile, visualizing a banana strawberry smoothie.

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