Sweating it out with Bikram... and letting it go...

Ego. I know you are thinking this one seems a bit more appropriate right? We've all heard about letting go of our egos far more often than letting go of our oatmeal. The ego is a funny one, it's multifaceted and so intricately layered within us that we often don't know where it begins or ends. For me, at least last week, it began in the women's changing room at Bikram Yoga Södermalm. BYS is my new home for yoga and about 7 days ago I began my practice there. In the US, I was practicing Core Power Yoga, which is a heated yoga that focuses on a flow. I loved Core Power and wasn't sure how I would adjust to Bikram which, involves 26 fixed postures that you do twice within 90 minutes while the room is heated to 105 degrees F. I like the diversity of Core Power, doing crow pose, headstands and throwing in some core work to tighten the tummy. So I wasn't sure how I would feel about Bikram.

On my first day I went in very excited to practice yoga again – especially after the stress of an international move. Plus, I love the tropics and intense heat, so I was totally confident that I would love Bikram. Wrong. The room was so hot, that after a few poses I was pretty sure I was going to throw up and, all I could think of was the barforama scene in the move 'Stand By Me'. Mixed with the constant nausea, was a gagging reflex at some of the smells associated with some of the bodies in the room. Sweat poured down like rain and I found myself lying in savasana (dead man's pose) more often than not. The teacher was not as warm and compassionate at the ones at Core Power. This definitely felt more disciplined (but you know what? I'm not on an ashram, and you're not a great yogi, so chill). The teacher would shout, 'Lock your knees, lock your knees, lock your knees, now fall back, go back, more back, like you are going to fall over.' Hmmm... did I really want to do this? I thought to myself. Everything felt uncomfortable. I couldn't understand it, I was doing a fairly advanced, heated, yoga in the US and was fine. I was strong and healthy. But this.... this was torture. I began speaking negatively to Bikram (the founder of Bikram Yoga) in my head. 'I've heard you are just a Hollywood yogi who drives a nice car. What are these 26 postures really going to do for me? Nothing right? Except maybe bre

ak my already injured back. Your teachers aren't even discussing the spiritual aspect of the practice. And, why do you think these particular postures are the key to enlightenment?' Uggg, I really wanted out of that room. After 90 minutes, the teacher guided us into our final savasana and I breathed a sigh of relief that it was over. Thank the high heavens!

I stumbled out of the room into the cool-down area. The cool, dark, wood under my feet and the large brass buddha in the corner, with candles burning in lotus petal holders, made me feel much better and I thought to myself that it wasn't so bad after all. Much like the oatmeal. Then I realized what I didn't plan for: putting my clothes back on while I was dripping sweat and heading out into the cold bitter chill of Stockholm winter. Damn. If I was to keep coming to the class I would have to face one of my biggest fears in life: locker rooms.

This is where the ego gets multi-layered. First of all, the locker room is really nice at this studio – so of course that helps (not like those dingy public pool locker rooms). But, for me, locker rooms represent my virgo nightmare: wet feet on floor touching loose hairs, meshing with sweat or other debris. Absolutely disgusting. In fact, loose hair anywhere makes me gag (much like the oatmeal did as a child – good friends, I know you are laughing right now). Wet feet feeling little things on the floor makes my skin crawl. I've had this affliction since I was little. My mom used to take me to swim lessons and I never felt comfortable touching my feet to the floor in the locker room, so I would tip toe around and hate every minute of it.

Now, here I was, 33 and living in a European city. I couldn't exactly tip-toe through the changing room. So I let go. I walked with all the pads of my feel touching every wet, bumpy, sticky thing on the floor. And you know what? It wasn't that bad. So my first locker room ego-filled issue was resolved, or at least addressed in a new way.

But I was still left with that gnawing feeling that I couldn't leave the studio sweaty each day. It was bad enough that I had to do it on this day. Imagine, putting on your clean clothes when your body is pouring sweat like you're in the hottest sauna of your life. Gross. Plus, leaving with wet hair when it's cold out is not the smartest of plans. I'm sure my mother would scold me for this one. So what was worse: trudging home wet and stinky, risking sickness and silent ridicule (Swedish people don't speak on the buses), or showering at the studio? I know what you are all saying and sure, the logical answer is to shower at the studio. And, this is exactly where my ego jumped in. Not only had I avoided locker rooms since childhood for the aforementioned hair-on-floor reasons, I don't think I ever in my life showered with other people (expect for the obvious people). If I did, I clearly blocked it out. There are no separate shower stalls at the Bikram studio. There are 4 shower heads in one giant shower and you bare it all to rinse your body of the filth that Bikram has just squeezed out of you.

I left feeling queasy: was it just the heat and torturous side bends? Or was this an issue of getting naked? Sweden is way more open regarding sex and the body than the US. They don't have that wonderful puritanical background like we do – making sex and body taboo and heathenistic. Group showering for Swedish people stems back to their childhoods. Erik assures me that it's okay and normal. I hem and haw over it, but know in my heart I can't go back to putting clean clothes on a sweaty body. My virgo core would never allow it.

The next time I went to Bikram, I brought a towel for showering (well technically it was a third towel since the first two are just for the sweat during class). All through the 90 minutes, as the Dutch woman shouted at me to be straight and focus, I secretly fretted over the shower. The hair, the wet floors, the nakedness! It was almost too much. I wanted my old yoga back, my car to hop into all sweaty, and my shower at home that was PRIVATE. I wanted my old oatmeal of yoga. But, as we know, you can't stay attached to that way of living – especially since I don't own a car anymore.

As the class let out I marched into the changing room ready to face my fears. In the end, it was a much deeper issue faced by most women in the world, but especially those of us from the US. Feeling comfortable in your own body. And, not just comfortable, but proud. If you're going to shower with other people, you really have to drop the bullshit. I guess you can hang onto it, but it really makes the whole experience so much worse if you do.

I don't know if it was the heat (I think that accounts for everything I've felt since staring Bikram – maybe even the oatmeal resolution, because when you are overheating – nothing really matters), or if it was the yoga itself (which I am still questioning the benefits of), but I just didn't care. All I wanted to do after that class was to take an ice cold shower – regardless of who was around. All I could think about was getting this heat demon out of my body. So there I was, in a wet-floor shower room with a bunch of people I didn't know, and I was undressing. Before I knew if I was in the shower, praising cold water. And you know what? It wasn't so bad. Minutes later I was dry, dressed, and ready to continue on with my day, sans sweat. So who knows, maybe it's just getting older that makes us let go of the rules we made for ourselves and held onto so strongly, or maybe it's just me and my neurosis being challenged by a new life. Regardless, my locker room fear was one more thing I had to give up and let go of. In the end my body and mind are a lot cleaner for it.

What we give up, what we let go of...

Oatmeal. I know it seems ridiculous, but it's true. I thought about bringing my own oatmeal just in case, but realized as the packing continued, that my small desires were getting out of control. So I left it behind – good old fashioned BIG oats. And I came to Sweden, where Erik assured me they had oatmeal too.

The whole situation is perhaps even more ridiculous because I've hated oatmeal since I can remember. To me it was a snotty, disgusting, excuse for food. However, once you hit your thirties, things change. At least they did for me. Your body changes (well this starts at 25) and, the things you want to put in your body change. Oatmeal is really good for you. So at 33 I decided to give it another go. And guess what? I liked it! So only about six months after getting back together with oatmeal, I was suddenly leaving for a new country and worried that my new food would not be found, or be the same as my trusty brand I had become so attached to. But the truth is, you can't hold onto the oatmeal. You HAVE TO LET IT GO. Really. It's like letting go of the comfort you feel in your home, in your bed, in your clothes, in your oatmeal. And, when you decide to move across the world, there is nothing left to do but let go of these attachments, and, ultimately the expectation that your oatmeal will be the same. So I let go and, left the oats behind.

Day 1 shopping in Sweden: We got to the oatmeal aisle and I looked with scrutiny at the packages I couldn't understand. Erik was looking out to make sure we got me one without gluten (intolerant). We decided on some brand that came in a paper-like sack – much like flour comes in the US. Hmmm... this cannot be right I thought silently, but pressed on.

One day, after yoga, I decided to try the oatmeal. I had been avoiding it like the plague – so concerned that it wouldn't' be my old oatmeal. And, it wasn't. The oats were all broken, sad, little buggers. And as I cooked it it was mushy instead of textured and hearty. Grrr... this isn't what I wanted, I thought to myself. And it wasn't. I ate it begrudgingly. Oddly, by the end of the bowl something happened. It didn't taste as funny and the texture didn't upset me as much. Could I actually start liking this new kind of oatmeal? Surely not.

Today, after an intense Bikram yoga class and then trudging through the freezing cold and snow home, I decided to eat oatmeal to warm my innards. As I began making it the strangest thing happened, I started getting excited to eat it. It was over the flaming burner of my gas range, with those broken oats in a deciliter measuring cup, that I let go of my past attachment and accepted my new oatmeal.

I know the story is funny, and may seem trivial, but it's not. It's a metaphor for what life has been like for me so far in Sweden. This isn't to say that Sweden is so different from the US, because at least food-wise, you can get almost everything you would in the US. However, it's the little differences that I realized I was so attached to. Ultimately, I had to accept that I wouldn't have my family shipping me oats when they had them at the grocery down the street.

As I sat down to eat my oatmeal, I took a deep breath and honored this small reminder about letting go. As soon as I let go, that bite, although it seemed different at first, slowly became enjoyable.