My good friend Carmen, one of the world's best narrators, tells a hilarious story about a bra fitting at the renowned Orchard Corset on Manhattan's Lower East Side. I won't go into the details, but the punch line is "Wipe the sweat," said in a heavy Eastern European accent. Vipe the sveat.
I think of that line often when I'm in Bikram yoga class. I've never sweated so much in my entire life; in fact up until now, I've avoided sweating whenever possible. I prefer to walk Moneypenny in the early morning, when it's quite cool. I sleep with the windows open in the winter time. I. Don't. Like. The heat.
Except now, I find myself looking forward to it. This morning I was dog tired and pretty down, and the ten minutes I had on my mat, lying in the heat and meditating before class even started, were already restorative. As sweat poured out of me through the postures, I visualized my bad mood oozing out with it.
And now? I feel better. Still tired, but calmer and brighter. I'll go back to class tomorrow and keep sweating out the moods and the stress, the worry and the cares. And it'll all get wiped away.