The first time I heard about Bikram yoga I was living in the temperate Southeast. The notion became more appealing amid a harsh New England winter. The temperature had not reached double digits in several weeks when a Bikram studio opened. I decided to check it out. In reading the website, I realized Bikram was a little different. The concept is facile: 26 poses performed with meticulous precision in a room heated to 105 degrees. I left my 62 degree home with the idea that at least I would be warm for 90 minutes. I paid at the desk and entered the “hot room”. The crowd was not the usual middle aged female crew I was accustomed to. Scantily clad women sized me up and beefy men glistened with sweat. I was red faced before the class started. As class began, it dawned on me that this was the step aerobics of the twenty first century. The teacher yelled at us like a drill sergeant for the entire 90 minutes. The forms were precise and there was a feeling of competition and jockeying. I love yoga because it frowns upon the competitive edge I fostered for most my life. It reared its ugly head in Bikram. After the class was over, 4 degrees felt refreshing. Overall, not a bad deal, but now that spring is here the hot room has lost its allure. 
