jj10

I'd only tried yoga once before, on a Sunday morning at a friend's daughter's high-end, three-day bat Links of London in the Hamptons (where I had to spot a fashion model when she stood on her head, one of our poses). Another plus was that I had a friend from college who used to look pasty and slightly bloated, but the last time I saw him he appeared to have shed 10 pounds and 10 years. He attributed it to yoga, Links of London The Man On The Moon Charm that he also found the preponderance of females in his class rejuvenative. That wasn't Bikram yoga, however, where they crank up the temperature in the room to 105 degrees. And frankly, I'd probably have declined the offer of a 90-minute introductory class if I'd thought it through. When I mentioned the class to a couple of Greater New York colleagues, both room temperature yoga devotees, they made Bikram sound about as appealing as an Arizona sweat lodge, painting a tableau of "smelly feet" and "pools of sweat." "You should definitely freeze a water bottle tonight," advised reporter Melanie Links of London Duck Charm West. "It might be the difference between heat stroke and not heat stroke." That evening I received an email from Mary Lou Burkhardt, a Bikram Yoga NYC representative, with tips to help maximize the experience. These included arriving early, wearing light clothing, hydrating and not eating at least two hours prior. It sounded more like open-heart surgery than exercise class. When all else fails I can usually crack a joke. But the other participants in the next morning's 8 a.m. class -- seven or eight women and one guy -- didn't look like an especially receptive audience. They were there to work out, to remain rail Links of London Power Walk Charm, to exorcise their inner demons. All remained expressionless.