My 90-minute Bikram Yoga session this afternoon went like thus: lie down on matt in sweltering room trying to keep calm; make vain attempt to look like a regular by stripping down to cycling shorts and sports bra; lungs fill with a fug of hot air as I follow the deep breathing exercises; half way through 12 standing postures (this is the cardio bit) the room spins and I start to panic; sit down, face beetroot and dripping with sweat, curse founder Mr Bikram Choudhury for turning up the heat on Hatha Yoga; a series of 13 stretches follow and I feel a little more Zen having managed to regulate my breathing; final breathing exercises finish the sequence and then it's flat on my back exhausted. Lying there, I suddenly felt very aware of my body, inside and out: I could feel my heart pounding, my lungs swelling and deflating, my muscles recovering, and let's not forget, I'd just spent an hour and a half staring at myself semi-naked in the mirror - Madonna (one of Bikram Yoga's many celebrity fans), I clearly am not. Now, back in the office, I'm even more determined to take my detox seriously.
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