Hot Yoga is GNARLY

The Morning Bun: Quick blurbs with a fresh take on our Yuppie lives that we would probably share over mimosas…if it were not a weekday.

I went to my first Hot Yoga Class at Ritual SF; yoga will never be the same, folks. With music BLASTING, a dark candelit room set at 100 degrees, and towels flying everywhere, this was a journey. As a newly anointed yogi (well the bougie, beginner’s All Levels Vinyasa Flow yogi in the Marina kind), I was ready to take this on full flight. Again, my expectations were blown away by the ensuing hour blitz into my spiritual, physiological, physical, emotional, and mental self. Even more cliche and less buzzword-y, it was LIT. My nonchalant earlier yoga attempts meant nothing compared to this topsy-turvy workout.

It was like going to brunch with bottomless mimosas instead of a glass of mimosa.

It was like receiving the 😃 emoji in a text instead of 🙂.

Heck, it was like a 107 like performance on your latest Instagram instead of the vaunted 49.

Towards the end of practice, we practiced our mediation with a theme: gratefulness. I sure was grateful for this class, but also my family, my friends, my life, my city, my country all coming to memory in the final moments of savasana. There was much-needed clarity! I felt fresh, alive, ready to take on the world/week, text my parents, buy dinner for ___, go to boozy brunch, and tackle all of my ambitions.

Sometimes, all you need is a $30 workout in a 100 degree pitch black room with blasting trance music and surrounding mirrors to get the message across…


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