My daughter Liz invited me to her weekly hot yoga class today. I haven’t been to a yoga class in a long time, and I have never been to one where the temperature is deliberately raised to encourage sweating. I was surprised at how full the class was at 11:30 this morning, and I was happy to see that a couple of people appeared to be at least my age, if not older. I took a spot in the back row and spread out my rented yoga mat. Liz was several rows ahead, which was fine with me.

Before arriving, I gave myself strict instructions to be the beginner I am and not put any pressure on myself to do more than I was comfortable with. After all, except for one yoga class a few years back, I believe my last class was several decades ago. I was happy that the instructor seemed supportive without paying attention to my rather unimpressive downward dog. Also, my neighbors in the back row were both younger women who appeared to be newbies in the class. I didn’t feel quite so self-conscious as I watched what they did so I could keep up. A few times, I simply could not do what the teacher was demonstrating, but I did some mild variation that kept me from giving up entirely.

Halfway through the class, I noticed the heat and had to use my towel to wipe the sweat off my face. I had a brief moment when I got slightly nauseated, but I stopped and drank some electrolytes I’d added to my water bottle upon Liz’s suggestion. My stomach settled immediately, and I went into some facsimile of the next pose. I am proud to say I made it to the end and received an ice-cold washcloth that I immediately spread over my face. The washcloth smelled lovely, a combination of frankincense and some other essential oil. Everyone was friendly, and the instructor and my back-row buddies told me I did great. (A generous term for my performance, but I appreciated the sentiment.)

Liz told me on the ride home that this was a tough workout. She kept checking on me, worried that I was doing too much. I had only done what I could do so I was fine. I didn’t even know it was a hard workout. I guess that’s the advantage of not having gone in so long. She suggested we try a beginner’s class next time. Probably not a bad idea.

No, that is not me in the photo.