Warrior Sculpt (Heated)

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On a sticky August 19th Saturday morning, at 9:30 a.m., I entered St. Louis Park Lifetime's yoga haven. The class was Warrior Sculpt. Yet, clad in my Kirkland Signature gear and 32-degree shorts, I felt far from war-ready. More like a misplaced wanderer. Just the room's heat made me sweat as if I'd run a mile.

The session kicked off. The instructor's rhythm was mesmerizing, almost like chanting a spell. To my sides, the regulars moved fluidly, effortlessly, interpreting her every word. Me? I was the clumsy newbie, trying desperately not to stand out for all the wrong reasons. Her rapid commands felt like a magician's incantation, meant to bewilder us newcomers.

I'd optimistically chosen 15-pound weights, copying another apparent beginner. A grave error. They felt impossibly heavy.

Amongst the seasoned yogis, one woman danced differently. To my left, she cheered herself on, lost in her euphoria, seemingly oblivious to our shared plight. Was her vibrant energy infectious or distracting? I was torn.

Thirsty and on the brink of collapse (I had half a mind to blame my colleague who recommended this trial), I sank into corpse pose. Not as a yoga move, but a sign of my sheer exhaustion.

Gradually, the class wound down to Shavasana. Looking back, it was a whirlwind — bewildering, challenging, yet oddly uplifting. Would I brave it again? Only time and a few more water bottles will decide. But if I ever crave a jolt from life's routine, I know just the spot.


All the best,

Fred

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