Sandra’s Saga: Chapter 8

“Health is the greatest of human blessings.” - Hippocrates

I Am Sandra: Chapter Eight – The Heat Is On

Yoga. It felt like coming home. After months of walking, experimenting with Pilates, and laughing my way through pickleball, yoga was a natural next step. I remembered how much I had loved it years ago—the slow, deliberate poses that stretched my body and calmed my mind. And now, with my knees stronger and my core waking up, I felt ready to return to the mat.

Dilma, of course, was right by my side. She’d tried yoga here and there but never quite stuck with it. “Let’s give it a real shot this time,” she said, eyes sparkling. “It’s supposed to be life-changing.” And honestly, it was.

The first few weeks, we found a small, cozy studio with a teacher who seemed to float instead of walk. She guided us gently, helping us ease into poses I hadn’t attempted in years—Downward Dog, Warrior II, Child’s Pose. My body creaked and wobbled, but I kept at it. Stretch by stretch, something shifted inside me. My joints felt looser, my muscles longer, my mind clearer.

And then came the breathing. I never realized how shallow my breaths had become until I sat on that mat, inhaling deeply, exhaling fully, and feeling the stress melt off me like dew in the morning sun. Yoga wasn’t just about movement; it was about stillness. It was about being.

I could’ve stayed in that studio forever. But Dilma—bless her adventurous heart—had other plans.

“Have you heard of hot yoga?” she asked one day, holding her phone up to show me a class nearby. “People swear by it. It’s like regular yoga, but better. You sweat out toxins, Sandra. Toxins!”

I was hesitant. Yoga, yes. Yoga in a room heated to 100 degrees? That sounded suspiciously like torture. But Dilma wouldn’t let me off the hook. “Just try it once,” she said, grinning.

And so, one humid Tuesday afternoon, we walked into a hot yoga studio.

The first thing that hit me was the heat—thick, sticky, and completely inescapable. It was like stepping into an oven. I glanced at Dilma, whose determination was already wilting as her curls flattened against her forehead. “You’re sure about this?” I whispered. She nodded, though her face betrayed a flicker of doubt.

The class began, and within minutes, I was sweating in places I didn’t know could sweat. My mat turned into a slippery puddle, and my once serene breathing sounded like I was climbing Mount Everest. Warrior poses? Forget it. I was surviving one shaky minute at a time.

At one point, the instructor said, “Let the heat energize you.” I almost laughed—if I’d had the strength. I looked over at Dilma, who was half-sprawled on her mat, waving weakly as if signaling for rescue.

But somewhere between my drenched clothes and the sweat streaming into my eyes, something strange happened. My muscles stretched deeper. The heat forced me to focus on my breath like never before. I couldn’t think about the discomfort; I could only stay present. In that moment—however messy, sweaty, and humbling it was—I understood what hot yoga was really about.

When the class ended, Dilma and I stumbled out into the cool air, half-laughing, half-gasping. “Sandra,” she panted, “if those were toxins, I think we’re officially toxin-free.”

We both laughed until our sides hurt. And despite my initial doubts, I couldn’t deny it: I felt incredible. My body was looser, lighter, almost reborn.

Will I make hot yoga a regular thing? Maybe not. But I learned something that day: stepping outside your comfort zone—literally and figuratively—can be transformative. Sometimes, you have to sweat it out, face the heat, and come out stronger on the other side.

I am Sandra. I’m stretching, growing, and showing up for myself—even when it gets a little too hot to handle.