Mitch's Aunt Shelley says here are two types of people in the world: Pine Trees and Palm Trees. Pine Trees flourish in colder climes, Palm Trees in more tropical environments.

I'm a Pine Tree. Last night when I went to yoga, I rolled out my mat in the nice cool yoga room, in the hopeful assumption that my class would occur under these congenial conditions. The woman next to me confirmed this, so I happily rolled about my mat, delighted to have escaped the hot room next door.

When the teacher arrived, she looked at me strangely and asked my name.

"Oh, we have you scheduled for the other class."

"Anusara's next door?" I asked.

She nodded.

I sighed, grabbed my mat and block and trundled off, muttering something about the heat.

When I opened the classroom door, I was greeted by a Dante-esque blast. The room was packed, the only spot left...the front row, three mats down from the teacher.

Anusara yoga isn't typically practiced in the heat, but as this room is used for hot yoga it retains the warmth.

I smiled wanly at the teacher when I sat down and thought, "Sh#t, I'm toast."

Since I've been trying to "do more yoga," I make it a point to arrive early to class to have my pick of the geography--In the back, a dark corner, where I can flop and heave far from the prying eyes of the teacher. As a child who never perfected the backward somersault, I loathe front row displays of my athleticism.

The teacher was young and pretty and flexible as Gumby. She started the class talking about St. Valentine and what he was willing to give up for love. According to legend, he was beaten, stoned and beheaded. This didn't bode well.

I looked around. Why weren't the other yoginis-of-a-certain-age complaining about the temp? We generate enough detoxifying heat on our own, thank you very much. But they all seemed happy and sanguine on their mats. What was their deal?

About 45 minutes in after countless chair poses (trust me, better to visit the gynecologist) and warriors and cobras and downward dogs and planks, I was flattened, wet and sopping like a beached carp.

"What are you willing to give up for love?" The teacher shouted.

I sat down, hoping I wouldn't hurl, and guzzled from my water bottle, thinking, "Honey, I love ya, but not enough to barf on my mat."

Roused, I finished the class, not flowing with grace as the Anusarans like to say, but trundling in awkwardness.

When I left the studio, the teacher beamed at me brightly, "You did awesome!"

I snorted. "You did awesome."

Outside the air was deliciously cold and I unzipped my coat.

You a Pine Tree or a Palm Tree?