So I’m in a class called Fire 90. It’s an hour and a half of yoga/pilates in a room thats set at about 103 degrees. I am DRENCHED with sweat. I mean, shirt is a completely different color and I’m sliding around on my yoga mat because of how much sweat is dripping off my body. So we’re about 20 minutes from the end and we’re in one of the warrior poses. I’m lunging hard right, arms extended on either side, left leg stretched out to a point, right hamstring parallel to the ground, abs tight, big exhale and BAM – the ceiling pipe busts a hole directly above me and water comes pouring down like niagra freaking falls. Picture someone getting slimed on nickelodeon but with hot water and while in warrior pose III. For a brief moment I stay in my stance, not quite able to understand what has happened, utterly confused by the amount of sweat already on my body and the additional hot water thats just been poured over me like a drink offering. There is a quick gasp from the corner of the room. Slowly, the class begins to laugh. I look up, step out of my pose, see the busted pipe and glance back at the mirror. My pony tail is pulled loose by the weight of the water. Well, shit – I say aloud. My instructor rushes over. Her east indian accent dripping over her words as she asks if I’m okay. Yes, I say. Yes, I am. I shrug as if giving permission to the rest of the class to continue laughing. My yoga mat is moved from what we’ll call ground zero and someone hands me a towel. Of course – I think to myself – why would this not happen to me? I am now covered not only in sweat but also in what I pray is only water. I think seriously about leaving. Bowing before the room and conceding to the embarrassment of the moment. But alas I am reminded of my dignity. And of the fact that I want to come back the next day. So I tell myself to stay. The hair band has been lost in the flood. My long hair sticks to my shoulder blades like plaster, still slicked back from the pony tail. It flirts with the look of a mullet. The asian man behind me has better hair, I think. Our eyes meet in the mirror. Must look away! My pride is burning. I glance at the door, planting my feet into the mat lest they feel the weight of my desire to leave and run me from the room, leaving behind the puddle and the asian man and the shreds of my honor left swimming on the floor. I look back to the mirror. Stay, young warrior. Stay and defend thy name. Return to warrior III.