If you have ever wondered what it’s like to do aerobics in hell, then hot yoga is for you. Gasping for breath in a stifling room as you twist around in an attempt to kiss your own butt is one of the most unpleasant experiences I regret trying. I love yoga. It’s a time for me to drop into my body, breathe, slow my mind, and be; however, setting the thermostat to the 9th circle of hell doesn’t contribute positively to my yoga practice.

First, there is the heat: 90+ degrees with 40% humidity. These conditions mimic the climates found in Brazil, Columbia, and the Maldives. The high humidity prevents the evaporation of sweat, limiting the body’s ability to regulate its temperature. My mat became a slip-n-slide during the class, adding another difficulty level to the experience.

Then, you are expected to move on this slip-n-slide. One of the most common forms of hot yoga is Bikram yoga, which involves 26 poses designed to stretch muscles and push the body. Most people would limit their exertion in high heat and humidity; however, the point of hot yoga is to move more.

Finally, you will spend your first class lost. The class leader doesn’t help you, and there are no adjustments or slowing things down. Unless you are familiar with the series of poses used in the class, you will struggle, adding an extra level of frustration to the experience.
Basically, you are playing mystery Twister in a sweat lodge without the joys of psychoactive substances.

Proponents of hot yoga claim it helps lower stress, relaxes the mind, and connects the breath to movement. The heat loosens soft tissues, promoting flexibility, detoxifies the body through sweating, and encourages circulation. Between the heat, humidity, and sheer frustration, I experienced no relaxation benefits. I spent the first 20 minutes of class genuinely trying to participate and then about 5-10 minutes cursing under my breath before I finally gave up and laid down on my mat to wait until the class was done and the door was opened, allowing in glorious cool air. People are asked not to leave the room until the class is over because opening the door would change the room’s temperature to something more humane.

At one point during the class, a woman on the mat in front of me bent herself into a bound pose. As she bent her back leg, sweat poured down her leg as if she had wet herself. Honestly, she may have wet herself. I couldn’t tell the difference.

I left that class relieved that I had served some of my time in purgatory by attending, sure that God would take 60 minutes off whatever my current sentence would be after death. Indeed, something this horrible wasn’t inspired by Her.

It’s been 15 years since I attended my first and only hot yoga class, and I intend to keep that streak going for as long as I draw breath.

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I partly wrote this piece while taking Essay and Opinion Writing 1 through Gotham Writers in Spring 2023. This class introduced me to different styles of writing, improved the structure of my essays, and developed better editing and revising skills.