I Survived Hot Yoga With Nick and Drew Lachey

I was folded forehead-down, sweating like a pig in a truly incompetent child’s pose, when onetime boy-band idols Nick and Drew Lachey rolled into a Manhattan yoga class.

To be clear, I knew that the brothers Lachey would be arriving. That’s why I was there, attending an exercise class at 8:00 am on a Tuesday morning. As part of their #UpForWhatever campaign (yes, the same one that spawned the “eliminate no from your vocabulary” debacle), Bud Light has embarked on a series of “Summer Bucket List” stunts, and so I got a promotional invite to “Hot Yoga with Nick and Drew Lachey of 98°.” Presumably the pair were game for public exposure because they’ve got a new TV show—Lachey’s Bar, about their Cincinnati sports bar.

The studio had been decked out with Bud Light branding. There was a giant Bud Light logo at the front of the classroom; everybody was assigned a Bud Light yoga matt and a Bud Light sweat towel. They’d also plastered 98° on the walls, in case anybody blacked out and forgot we were at Hot Yoga with 98° (sponsored by Bud Light). It was hot as hell and very quickly the people around me were looking wilted and damp. And frankly, the thought of downing a couple of beers and then dizzily attempting downward-facing dog in the sweatbox that is hot yoga made me queasy. (Probably why we were handed waters, not Bud Lights, as we entered.)

Anyway—after signing all the very alarming release forms required to participate in hot yoga—everybody got into child’s pose. Of course I cannot fold my butt all the way to my heels and put my forehead on the floor, so if raw video of this class ever surfaces, I’ll be the one all the way in the back, butt stuck up in the air, giggling hysterically when Nick and Drew Lachey enter the room. Because you know that walk that dudes in boy bands always did in videos, back in the ‘90s? Sort of an exaggerated rolling prowl, like even their steps had been remolded to maximize their appeal on MTV?

An instructor from Bikram Yoga was leading the class, but it was the brothers who announced each pose—with a new name. For instance, there was a “reaching for the last Bud Light in the fridge” pose, and an “all my friends have FOMO” pose. So there was always a brief moment of fumbling as the instructor translated that into real yoga terms, three-quarters of which I did not know, of course, putting me 30 seconds behind everybody else in the room. Except for maybe Nick Lachey! Because it quickly became clear that while Nick might know his way around a case of beer, he is less familiar with yoga. He kept that megawatt smile going, though, and both Lacheys exuded relentless bro-dude positivity as we cycled quickly through boat pose and tree pose and whatever-else pose.

“We should have named the band 68°,” Nick wisecracked at one point. “Actually, 105° is better,” deadpanned the yoga teacher. I have never before felt so in sync with a boy-band star, except for the moment when Nick, attempting a particularly challenging yoga move, fell over. Solidarity, my friend.