The Devil is a Yogi

I'm not going to lie. I spent the last couple of years- and a little more - extremely out of shape. I took up a torrid love affair with foods like hollandaise and bread. I had a couple of flings with potatoes here and there... And pasta and I became "close." I developed a particular attachment to gnocchi.

While I was engaged in this affair of the mouth, I grew apart from exercise. Occasionally, we'd still see each other, but a the food took a larger role, I let exercise slip away completely.

Now I'm trying to patch things up with exercise. Its been sort of a hard make-up. It's hurt and resentful, and I've had some trouble with commitment. "Had" being the operative word. Recently (okay it's been almost a year) I've found Bikram. Of course, the other problem is that I can't just drop food altogether. We still see each other. Daily. So I can see why exercise is still angry and unhelpful.

However, I love the hot room. I love it. Which goes against everything I believe about climate control and exercise. At no time should I be craving a room at 105 degrees that will make the sweat run off my body and soak my scant clothing through. It's sick and wrong. I think I'm pretty lucky in that I can go into that room and think about nothing. Literally nothing. No matter what's going on or how my day has been, I can go in there and just listen to the words and stare in the mirror or at the ceiling and go blank. When I don't go, I miss it. Which is proof positive that Bikram is the devil. Only the devil can make you love to do the things you hate.