Thursday, September 10, 2015. 8:59 p.m.

I just came from a yoga class. Let me rephrase that. I walked into a Rockin' Flow yoga class in downtown Ithaca, a class where themed music plays in the background, and since I clearly didn't do enough research beforehand, proceeded to do an hour and fifteen minutes of hot yoga. (Not to mention, I had made an impulsive stop to Waffle Frolic beforehand for buttermilk waffles and a huge scoop of Purity ice cream on top. Probably not the best idea.)

I have never done hot yoga, nor have I ever considered doing it. In fact, friends have told me to try it, and I laughed in their faces every time they did. I HATE the heat. I especially hate the heat because I hate sweating. I hate smelling, I hate ... I just realized I left my water bottle at the studio. I'm already on the bus back to campus, so I guess I'll buy a new one. Or maybe I'll pick it up when I go to my next class. What's that? Yeah, you read that right. I actually bought a five-class student package immediately following today's session. I must have forgotten my empty bottle was there (it was about 800 mL full before), because I was in a hurry to buy more classes and a sweat towel.

So how come I actually ended up liking — no, LOVING — hot yoga when I'd sworn I'd never do it so many times before? The key was that I didn't even know that's what I was getting myself into. My first hot yoga class was a complete accident. Despite the room being about 90 degrees and 60 percent humidity without taking into account body heat, I still consider it hot yoga since the official hot/Bikram yoga temperature is only 15 degrees more and 20 percent humidity less than the conditions I was in. So, it evens out to essentially be a form of hot yoga, in my book. Especially when I've only ever done yoga with A/C.

As the class started, I listened to my cool and enthusiastic instructor introduce herself to a packed room, but suddenly stopped listening once I saw her shut the windows. I had purposely chosen a spot near the outside air, and why would she be closing the windows? Didn't she see how full the room was? Then I realized why there were so many people holding towels, why there were two piles of blocks, wet and dry, and why there was so much condensation on the windows from the class before ours.

Within minutes, I was sweating. Not like "oh, no, I feel a little damp" sweaty, though. It was "holy sh*t, why the f*ck are thick drops of sweat streaming from my forehead, gathering around my collarbone. It's like I just jumped into a swimming pool, and — why don't I feel ... hot?" Seriously. Why was I sweating buckets, sweating so profusely my hands were sliding on the mat during downward dog, but I didn't feel the least bit overheated? My sweat was more like condensation than anything else, really. Sure, I took gulps of water every so often, but only because I felt like I should. And what's more, doing yoga was easier and not at all painful. I was more flexible than ever, and maybe looking disgusting was the sacrifice I had to make in order to feel like yoga was something I could actually do (an idea that I had been quietly giving up on).

With that said, I did overestimate how the studio’s high heat and even higher humidity affected my REAL flexibility level and pulled something awful in my thigh. Even though I was physically able to grab my left foot with my right hand behind my back, apparently doesn't mean I can do it without hurting myself. Almost on the verge of having a freak out, I focused on the 2009 greatest hits playlist (in honor of the studio's 6th anniversary) and on my instructor reminding us to breathe. Breathe, I almost forgot! So, with a few deep inhales and audible exhales, I sank into child's pose for a rest. My instructor came over quietly (which I REALLY appreciated since I hate drawing attention) and made sure I was alright. I was. After a few seconds (minutes?), I found my pace back with the rest of the class, and the painful pull in my leg gradually disappeared. In fact, the pain I'd been feeling for weeks in my knee had vanished, too! As the instructor reopened the windows during savasana (rest time at the end of the class), my skin immediately lost all sweat and was as dry (maybe dryer) than before I entered the studio.

For the remainder of the class, I thought about how it was OK to take breaks if I felt I needed them (or if my body told me I needed them). I started to notice that the girl beside me, who had clearly been doing this a long time, sank into child's pose every so often without instruction. I also thought about how this would make a great essay and actually started writing it in my head.

As I began to write this on my phone on the bus ride back to campus, then on my hall's quad under the moon and lamplight and now in the abandoned study lounge, I realize a few things: 1) I need a shower, 2) This kind of sweat is the first one I actually don't mind, and 3) I can't wait for my next class to be both reunited with my water bottle and also use my new periwinkle sweat towel as I do hot yoga to '90s hits.

According to the yoga studio’s website, “the heat helps to detoxify the body and boost your immune system, while reducing muscle and joint tension.”

I never thought I'd find myself in a 90 degree, 60 percent humidity yoga studio, nor did I think I'd stay if I ever did find myself there, and it's all thanks to doing it by accident.