Typhoid Yogini

There are a lot of proven claims about yoga with regards to health floating around. The main ones being it helps to improve breathing, flexibility, stamina, and balance. I've benefited greatly from Bikram--I can now maintain control of all four limbs for about 12 hours a day (up from two hours about five months ago) and then there's the whole awesome complexion thing. Also,  I had a conversation with a young woman recently who said that her six-day/week Bikram habit helped to fix her eyesight--she used to wear glasses--but not anymore. She didn't require glasses for her driver's license renewal test. Impressive.

Some even claim that Bikram can stop the cold or flu dead in its tracks. I'm an open-minded person, but I'm also a born skeptic, so this cure-the-common cold/flu claim doesn't quite work for me. So, when I was in class the other day with a young woman who had a box of Kleenex next to her, I knew something was amiss. When the deep, painful-sounding coughing started during Half-Moon, I started to get a scosch irritated. After all, we're in a very hot, carpeted room crowded with sweaty bodies engaged in deep breathing exercises. Germs are bound to fester longer than, say, outside. Sure, I felt bad for her--she was sick. It happens to everyone numerous times during one's life. We've all been there. I understand wanting to push through sickness because you have stuff to do, a life to live.

However, when your choices could possibly affect my health, that's when my empathy goes right out window. Showing up sick to Bikram is not the same as showing up to work sick (another pet peeve for another time) because one doesn't need to do Bikram in order to feed one's family or pay bills. Some folks could counter with the "you don't know where he/she is in the cold/flu cycle," or the "you just need be present in the hot room--that's your yoga practice if that's all you can do" Both arguments have their merits. But, when each cough sounds like you're about to lose a lung, and you're sporting a rheumy appearance with the hallow-looking eyes and gray complexion, you should've stayed in bed watching "Sanford & Son" reruns with a trough of steaming miso soup on the bedside table.

Sometimes I wonder about common courtesy--where did it go? Will it ever return?

As I ponder this, I wonder what it would be like to show up to class in intestinal distress.

Yeah, you know you're thinking the same thing.