“What do you want me to say? That I understand and that you shouldn’t blame yourself?” He wipes his tears, a hardness entering his eyes. “Fine, you shouldn’t blame yourself. Don’t feel guilty. Go home.”
“I do feel guilty.” I protest. “But we can’t keep going out of guilt. It’s not a very good basis for a relationship.”
He nods and touches my cheek gently. “I just need some time.”
Dazed, I walk around the flat, hoovering up my things. My fluffy slippers, my elasticated trousers, my pink hot water bottle. All signs of the rut we had fallen into.
Tomorrow I’ll go out and buy saucy hold-ups and lace knickers. I’m 28, when did I start acting 68? It’s time to reclaim my sex life.
***
It’s Friday morning, therefore, I should be in a good mood.
I would be if I wasn’t standing outside a Bikram yoga studio at 6. 15am in the rain.
I’m already panting when I meet Suze outside the yoga hall, from belting across London on my bicycle to get there on time. Suze chose the lazy option, the underground.
When she sees me, she breathes out heavily.
I look at my phone. “Where’s Cat?”
“She couldn’t make it. She’s snowed under at work.”
“Cat?” I ask in disbelief. “Do you realize Cat spent three hours on Monday rearranging her knicker drawer by colour because she was ‘so on top of things’? The little bitch, If I have to go through this, she bloody well has to also!”
“You’re right!” Suze becomes indignant. “All I asked her to do was stay in one class for 90 minutes. I didn’t think it was much to ask!”
“Come on.” I fling open the door to the reception and am hit by the smell of sweat. “Let’s get this over and done with.”
After registration, we walk to the studio and peer inside the glass window waiting for the last class to finish. Glancing around the room, I started to doubt that Suze and I had misjudged the dress sense. There were girls wearing bras and the shorts so tiny, I’m sure you could see internal organs when they bent over. There was more muffin top on Kate Moss than in that studio.
As the door opens to the studio, I am hit by a heatwave that could rival a cremation. Suze looks at me wide-eyed in terror, a bead of sweat forming over her eyebrows.
We trudge hesitantly into the studio and find an area to stand as close to the door as possible.
About 20 people are already lying flat on the floor on yoga mats with their palms facing the ceiling, taking long deep breaths.
I look around to see at least 10 more people pile into the room.
What the hell? How are we all going to fit in here?
I open my mouth and no oxygen goes in. It’s really hard to breathe in this heat.
My feet start to cook on the ground and I hop from foot to foot.
This isn’t pleasant heat, like my juicing retreat in Sardinia. Or standing on a beach in Jordan.
It’s way hotter. Boiling. Record-setting extreme climate conditions. A room that shouldn’t be inhabited by humans.
It was taking all my strength not to bolt out of the door.
“Are they fucking serious?” Suze hisses at me, becoming more frazzled by the second. “This isn’t right! It’s inhumane!”
Usually, I dismiss Suze’s dramatized account of sporting activities, but I couldn’t argue with this one. I wouldn’t heat a hen house to this temperature.
The door closes, and I feel my heartbeat accelerate as waves of panic set in. There was no way I could stay in this room for ninety minutes. But there were so many people between me and the door.
Beside me, Suzy moans softly.
I close my eyes and reassure myself that I’m not going to die from spontaneous combustion.
“Good morning, ladies. Welcome to Bikram yoga.” A short lady with an Eastern European accent smiles around the room.
“This is an intense session. You may experience, at times, discomfort, panic, nausea, the feeling that you want to run out of the room. This will be a tough class. For regulars, you will already appreciate the true enjoyment of this class and the benefits that you can gain. For new starters, I ask you to bear with it. Do not overexert yourself for the first few sessions!” Suzie nods her head feverishly, either in agreement or as part of a fit.
The instructor paces up and down the front of the room.
“Your main aim this morning should be to stay in the room for the entire ninety minutes. If you have done that, you have done extremely well.”
“Stay in the room,” I repeat to myself quietly. “Just stay inside the room.”
I’ve never been one for confined spaces. If someone tells me the toilets are out of order, I immediately have to go. If someone tells me to be silent, I’ll get a parched throat and be choking to cough. Bikram lady telling me I need to stay in this Saharan heat for 90 minutes? My brain is ordering me to get the hell out.
“We have a few new starters tonight. Where is Melissa?” A lithe girl in a catsuit wiggled her hand in the air.
“And Charlotte and Suzanne?” She looks around the room.
“Oh, that’s us!” I rasp out and raise my arm in the air. Hearing my voice was strange; dry, and breaking.
“Ok, ladies, take it easy. If you feel nauseous, just stop the exercises, sit down on the mat and breathe through your nose.” She clasps her hands together.
“Right, let’s begin the first posture!” Her hands stretch above her head. “Arms up to the ceiling… follow the ceiling to the back wall with your eyes…”
“How many postures are there?” I throw Suze a desperate look. She can barely answer me. “Two,
I hope.”