Don't Leave the Room

I went to my first bikram yoga class today. I know behind the curve on this one, but the idea of holding already seemingly impossible poses in a room that is heated up to the temperature of India in August with a dew point of 95, just never sounded good to me. I like yoga; gentle, meditative, candlelight yoga with Bollywood ballads playing in the background. But bikram, I knew, would be a challenge for me and my kind. See, I'm a redheaded, fair-skinned lass whose ancestors hail from Scotland. Lifting a Scotch to our lips while belting out soccer anthems safely tucked into a pub booth waiting for the rain to stop- that's what my people do for exercise.
As a brand new student to bikram, the instructor had to meet with me before the class. He gave me an overview, then told me it would take about 3 to 5 classes to even start to get used to the heat and humidity. He told me I might feel dizzy, lightheaded and nauseous, and feeling that way was fine, but however I might feel, just don't leave the room. Oh, God! Really? I mean, what if I puke or think I'm gonna pass out or have a panic attack because it's 100 degrees and I can't breathe because the air is thicker than commute hour in Delhi?
I took my mat and towel to the last slot in the back and sank into a 90-minute session. Yes, an hour and a half. I couldn't even think about it. The instructor paces and talks the whole time into a wireless mic, so I had to use my fellow students as my examples. Most of the poses themselves weren't particularly difficult (although I haven't been able to touch my toes since I was in vitro), but it was the heat that added a whole new dimension to my shaking shell. The poses are a form of cardio, and I could literally feel every single artery pumping as I inhaled with heavy, thick breaths. Halfway through the standing poses, the advanced students so limber, they might as well have been licking their tailbones, I saw stars...black splotches... and my towel started spinning. I came out of my pose to calm myself, but was scolded by the instructor for breaking my pose before the rest of the class. Apparently we start and end each pose together. I guess impending loss of consciousness isn't really a concern. I recovered and made it to the floor portion of the class. At this point, the sweat is literally gushing out of my body. I honestly didn't know a human could sweat this much. My high-performance wicking (ha!) t-shirt was completely soaked through, my shins resembled waterfalls and my pony tail was so wet it was literally starting to weigh me down. My face was as red as a campfire and my eyes stung from brow sweat (so that's what eyebrows are for! Damn Drew Barrymore and her thin '90's brows ... I knew I over-plucked!) After a few more poses that included cirque de soleil back bends and a, "now lift everything off the floor except your vagina" pose, we ... were ... done.
Now the questions are: was the pleasure worth pain? And, am I going back for more?
Answers: I'll let you know tomorrow ... and ... I have to, I bought a membership!