On one of my little workout tapes, they end with hugs all around. Something just seems wrong when sweaty people feel obligated to hug one another. When I'm all sweaty and gross, the last thing I want to do is hug someone and get their sweaty grossness all over me. Bleh.
The same holds true on hot summer nights. The blankets are off, the fan is on and I'm still too warm to be comfortable. I don't care if you're Chris or a cat or a polar bear; unless you are at 50 degrees or cooler, don't touch me.
I tried hot yoga a few months ago. Bikram's, it's called. I got up at 5:00 a.m., drank some water, got dressed in traditional yoga clothes (I hadn't done yoga in years before this adventure), drank water, peed, drank more water and went off with Dana for a 90 minute adventure. Since it was winter, I enjoyed the warm room...for about 5 minutes. By the end of the next 85 minutes of being a sweaty bump on a log, my main concern was not throwing up on Dana. Although if I had, it would have:
a) been all water, which was
b) cooler than the room.
Though I didn't throw up, it wasn't until well after noon before I next peed. That's with drinking 80+ ounces of water. Disturbing. I'm whimpy in any extreme weather. As my life is ironic, I live in Colorado.
An Erinku:
One sandal
empty,
waiting for
fullfillment.
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