Pre-read notice; this post is completely and utterly fukn pointless. You have been warned. Yeah I've done some stupid shit in my time, believe me, and haven't we all. Most of us get older and the stupid shit generally thins out in occanrances or seriousnessness etc etc. Even now, with all my travels around Europe and working in a Whisky bar, I don't actually drink all that much compared to most folk in the UK or AU. I like to keep an eye on my fitness and running etc - but every now and then, I'll have a wee bender, and I mean wee bender, just one night on the sauce, not 2-3 day stuff. Que last fu cking friday. Que my fu cking friend Kendall, from hobart, who lives in Scotland here with me. At some point, she convinced me to educate her on whisky - nae boda pal, I know more then the average bear. Not having much money, going to a bar and trying different ones wasn't attractive, and we decided a single nice bottle of Whisky was in order. Go to hers, drink, talk shit, eat shit, listen to music, nothing to extreme. But lets back up here - key point to the story. This fukn yoga shit. Basically lately my running has seemed to improve a fair bit lately, did my first half-marathon in Edinburgh and got a nice time of 1:37:09 which I was happy with as I beat my target. On stalkbook, Kendall posted something about a shit day and going for a run, and I was about to head out for one as well. I called her up and she didn't want to run with me, different fitness etc. But she got this idea, what's worse is I accepted it. <-- This is one of those points in your life where you look back and think "why the **** did I agree to that / do that wheelie on that street / shag that girl from work / etc etc" You look back on them and wish you didn't, but you did, and like the invertibility of a newb on a non-LAMS bike attempting to do a burn-out, flipping bikes of choas surely follows. Youtube videos / pics - not this time. She asked me if I wanted to try this Bikram Yoga stuff, you know, Yoga, in the 40degC rooms, apperently meant to be really good for your muscles. Recently I had been having troubles with very tight hammy's, so I figured 90 minutes of stretching may help, and hey, let's be honest, I expected to see this for 90 minutes!! If it was anything like the lassy's walking in and out of the classrooms at my old melbourne gym, I'd get a giggle (read; perv). So I agreed to go with her Saturday morning, 11:30am. But we agreed to meet for Whisky friday night. Queue Chaos. Weapon of Choice, this lovely Caol Ila 12yo, a simple, lightly peated whisky, one of my favourites, and something Kendall would enjoy. But I got away late from home, and Kendall picked me up, and we started drinking said whisky at about 10pm. Didn't feel late here, sunset is like 10pm and there is no black sky at this time of year, just light blue on one side, dark blue on the other - for 1-2 hours. So we drank, talked shit, played music, ate crap, and then ran out of whisky. No idea what time, but the 700ml bottle was gone between the two of us, and we had nothing else to drink. Then she remembered she had vodka, success!! Oh shit!! Nothing to mix it with, that whisky was a beautiful single malt, so of course we drank it neat, so our hydration levels were proberbaly low at this point. But good 'ol Kendall found a mixer; Rosé wine. Classy, vodka and wine mixed together, good work kids. Look over there, that's my liver on the train to ireland where it may get treated better. Fade memories and wake up in the morning. First realisations; feel a bit seedy, all good, still pretty drunk. What's that on me, pen tattoo's?? Seriously; did we hire a bunch of homeless folk to draw on us?? There was about 4-litres on pen ink in each of us. Then the pain starts. Sitting up is extremely difficult, head has now zipped past Jupiter and approaching pluto fast. Realise time, shit, no time for shower, get dressed and rush to car. Walking; stumbling bouncing off the walls of her appartment building was a safer option, the slam of a door and jingle of her keys hurt. Kendall's housemate; "you two fukn stink of booze". Cheers Pal. Driving, Kendall insists on Drum&Bass at full noise to wake us up. Fukn seriously??? Park car, climb out, trying to count loose change to feed parking meter; extremely difficult. I've had easier questions on quantom physics on university exams easier then this. What are these silver coins and why do they all look the same but different size? Realization; my 500ml water bottle is probably to small - drank it already. Shit, hope they have water fountains or something. Get to venue, it's about to start, people already laid out on mats, 40 BILLION HEATERS AND RADIATORS TURNED ON TO POWER OF LARGE STAR IN ONE SMALL ROOM!!!. ****!!! Pay money, borrow rolly mat, enter HOTTEST PLACE ON EARTH. And I've been under a tin roof on a 40degC day. This place, it wins over that. Your black leathers in traffic in summer, nothing. Trying to do an oil change on a very hot bike engine; would of been welcomed here to cool down. **** me, this is insane, but none the less, I'll give this a serious shot, I like a challange, like riding with two motorcycles tyres (peice of piss btw). Look around the room at the ladies - Where the **** are the hot girls??? Seriously, did you hide them in another room? All I see here is shaved labradors. More importantly, I need a place to set up my mat thingy. Only place free; literally 12inchs from a fukn electric radiator, you know those ones that glow bright orange and burn shit, yeah, it was pointing straight at me. It's rotate feature; extremely fukn slow, I've been on hold with VicRoads for less time then this thing takes to spin away from me. Bet the girl next to me was glad that I blocked it for her. Haha biatch, I'll cop the heat, you can get drunk off the fumes of alcohol that evaproate off me, nice arse too, pity about the rest of her. Cue instructors instructions. Did I mention she was Finnish?? And not the hot kind, the "hippy haven't had a wash for 3months" kind. And her English, was, well, shit. Yeah I can't speak any other languages, but for an instructor, she talks way, way to fast. First move, breath in and out and shit, point your fingers to the sky, and dizzyness reaches an insane level. My saving grace, I was within arms reach of the wall - oh trusty wall, I know I'm balancing on you, why are YOU moving!!??!!?? Finnish boyfriend of instructor comes around, for advice, which is; "both arms up, you don't need to balance off the wall for any exercises." Well apperently the girl next to me does, her balance was incredibily shit, mine was just effected by my third pass by Saturn. "Hold your arms there, lean back, lean back, hold, wait........" etc etc. Who knew standing upright in such a frikking hot room could hurt so much. My shoulders felt like I had just done multiple heavy sets in the gym. Farrrrrrrrkkkkk, how long is this going to last. This place is a casino, no clocks anywhere!! Music sure is shit, meant to be relaxing? I think a heart rate machine beeping away would be more reassuring right now, I think mine stopped. Next pose, do this, do that, STREETTTCCCHHHH!!! FARRRRKKKK!!! Lifting weights and running my whole life means one thing = INFLEXABILITY!! This 40degC room doesn't do shit to warm your muscles up, infact, I say its a farse, load of shit. But hey, I look like a fukn flying flamingo!! I look around the room, and see this; not attractive at all. But then I see the worst part; Kendall the biatch, the one who put me up to this, is sitting down, drinking her water. Curse you, lazy fuka!! Do the frikking flying flamingo!! Farrk. "That is the last of the standing poses". Awesome, sit down time. Wrong. Radiator is pointing at me. It likes me. Stupid thing. **** you. Look at my shoulders, sweat is actually white?!?!?!? WTF?? Why not clear??? Salts? If I lick it, will I get drunk? Next stretch was effectively working hamstrings, excellent, I hope I get one positive out of all of this. Nope. My thoughts confirms - hot enviroments does not mean your muscles are warm to be stretched; result; pain, and me looking even more retarded trying to reach my foot. Assistant instructor guy gives me a strap to throw around my foot an pull on. My hammy's feel like fencing wire. Probably didn't help that thursday run was 17km's in the rain and cold. Itch my nose, then itch my ankle and continue to pull on my stretch. WTF?? Is that blood on my ankle??!!?!? Where from?? Wipe ankle clean, not from there... oh dear... nose. Stick finger up both nostrals, not even attempting to be discrete, I don't care at this point, I really don't. Curse all these people who think this Hot Yoga shit is enjoyable. Retards. Probably like licking windows too, oven windows at that - from the inside. ****s. Blood not from inside of nose, its from outside??? For some reason, I'm bleeding from the side of my nose. I look inwards / crosseyed, I can see the droplet gaining volume, and now its bugging me, it grows, and I wipe it away. It contines to grow, I don't want it to drip but, I wipe it away. It never clots, why would it? It's 40degC in here, the blood probably feels more at home outside then it does inside. Remainder of class, bleeding and wiping with towel. Joy. Class finished!! FUKN YAY!!!! 90minutes of this intense tourture should mean no hangover? Wrong. Feel like hammered shit. Go outside, collect shoes, top up water, go outside. Me and Kendall both ramble off expletives about the entire experience. Sunlight hurts outside, cold air doesn't help. Water bottle already empty. Head feels like a hot air balloon - caught in power lines. Mission; go home, shower, pub for a pint and feed. Pint will take the edge off it? Nope - was like drinking razor blades. Result; still felt shit. Oh well it's 4pm now, Kendall looks like death and goes home. Me, get dressed arsehole, 8-9hour shift at work in 1hour. Ranked in my top 5 of worst hangovers I've had. Conclusions; Bikram Yoga is a load of bullshit. Lessons learnt; always have a mixer in the house.