What if I told you there was one thing you could do that would cause you to:

- choose the vegetable over the potato chip, really it would be your choice

- drop a dress size regardless of what the scale said

- feel beautiful

- involuntarily sing, or skip, or at the very least smile

- cut out alcohol

- cut back on caffeine

- make new friends

- feel more confident

- quiet the crazy voices in your head

- feel strong, healthy, proud and invincible?

Would you want to try it? Be careful. It’s very addictive. Do you think you could handle it? The magic pill is Bikram Yoga and it is powerful stuff.

I first came to Bikram overworked, overtired and feeling like a hag. I clocked ten hour days at the office Monday through Friday. I ate whatever I wanted (chocolate) because I deserved it. I slept until noon on the weekends. My skin was dull, my body was round and my sense of humor was missing. I powered through my days on nine Diet Cokes and then had a glass of wine to unwind before bed.

I heard about Bikram while living in Los Angeles. Several friends swore by their practice and tried to get me to come to a class taught by Bikram himself. Bikram Choudhary, the founder of Bikram Yoga, had a reputation for calling it like he saw it.

“Let me get this straight. You want me to put on a sports bra and shorts and do yoga in a 100 degree room full of people while this man Bikram yells at me and calls me fat? I’ll pass.”

Two years later I was living on the East Coast and a coworker mentioned that her father was teaching Bikram. Maybe it was a sign, maybe I was desperate, or maybe I was just frustrated I couldn’t button my size 10 jeans anymore. Whatever the reason, one Saturday morning I finally went to a class.

I never played on a sports team. I never belonged to a gym and I never, ever sweat. I couldn’t even sit in a hot tub without feeling like I was suffocating. I hated heat. So what the hell was I doing in a basement with thirty other people, most of whom were wearing very little clothing? The room felt like a sauna and the mirrors on the wall were fogged over.

A small powerhouse of a woman led the class. Contrary to anything I knew about yoga, she talked nonstop through the entire 90 minute class. She coached, joked, gently prodded, corrected, pushed and inspired the members of the class. After 45 minutes of standing postures I was soaking wet. My clothes and my hair were dripping. The smell in the room was just shy of oppressive. My arms were throbbing and I didn’t think I could stay upright. The teacher told us to lie on the floor in Savassana and bring our heart rates back to normal. My chest felt like John Bonham was inside it drumming. After twenty seconds she told us to sit up. “Now the real yoga begins,” she said. “That was just the warm up.”

For the last 45 minutes of class I tried to force my body into the postures but I think only my eyes were moving. The rest of me lay in a puddle on my mat. But the strangest thing happened. When I left the class I had a bounce in my step and a smile on my face. I felt good.

The next morning I hurt in places I didn’t even know I owned. But I went back for another class. And I kept going at least five times a week. One morning months later I woke up and was struck by an amazing thought, “I am living the life I always wanted to live.”

I felt healthy. I felt beautiful. I felt calm. I felt happy. And I looked good too. My size 10 jeans were loose. My skin glowed and my cellulite seemed to be melting off the back of my legs. 

I wish the story could end there. I wish I could tell you I lived happily ever after in a state of nirvana. But somehow life got in the way and my practice suffered. I had business trips and babies and other responsibilities so I missed a week of practice and then a month and then two years. I had fallen off the mat.

But here’s the amazing thing about my magic pill. It is always available. One day last year I dragged my fatter and more stressed out body into a Bikram studio. By the end of the week, I was under the full effects of the drug. One night after class, I skipped all the way to the car. Yes, I said skipped.

In an effort to solidify my habit, I signed up for a thirty day challenge: thirty Bikram classes in thirty days. That month I didn’t have time for much more than work and yoga. I did a lot of laundry and took a lot of showers. I developed a rash on my arms and legs from my yoga clothes chafing against my sweaty body. Around day ten I started to cry during Camel Pose, a challenging backbend. I didn’t know why I was crying, I just knew I needed to. This odd occurrence continued for a few days and always happened during Camel.

When the thirty days were over, I felt strong and pretty and alive. I didn’t know what I had overcome but I knew that some negative emotions that had been trapped inside me escaped during all of those Camels and I felt lighter and safer. Mostly I felt proud that I had honored a commitment I made to myself. Up until that point I could always deliver on promises to family, coworkers and friends; but never to me.

I’ve fallen off the mat again several times since the challenge. But I no longer sweat it (bad pun intended) because I know I will always find my way to Bikram. Bikram Yoga is a drug way too powerful to resist.