LISTENING TO: KEXP 90.3 and the High Fidelity soundtrack

READING: Cause Celeb, by Helen Fielding

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This image is NOT of me. (from archiemcphee.com -- if it's a problem to use it, feel free to tag up and I'll lose it.)

I think my yoga instructor is trying to kill me. This is only the second class of this term. At this point, I’m just hoping to make it out alive.

Generally, I enjoy yoga. I’m not the bendiest person in the world, but I’ve taken classes from this instructor before with only a few moments of ‘errm… don’t like this. Ow."

Last night was a solid 90 minutes of my body playing Bartleby, the Scrivener. -- "I would prefer not to."

I should’ve seen it coming when we stayed sitting on the floor after our initial ‘meditation’ period. I’ve never been much for sitting for extended periods without back support, because I have little to no abdominal strength.

Denise doesn’t know that, though. She’ll say things like ‘now, don’t PEEEL yourself off of the floor to get from Cobra to Half-Dog pose – use your core strength." Lady, I have no core strength!

Anyway, since I have no abs to speak of, my back-muscles bear the brunt of sitting unsupported. The longer it goes, the more my hip flexors and extenders kick into the mix. I have no idea how many DAYS we did this upright stuff (no clocks in the room) but by the end I was in serious hurting.

Then we did a ‘thread the needle’ pose which was goofy-looking as well as uncomfortable. Basically, you’re kneeling – but your upper body is lying on its side on the mat so your ass is in the air. Now, put your lower arm straight out, have your other arm pushing against the floor with your elbow straight up, and your head on your yoga mat. You know that part of Henry V when they’re just wrapping Agincourt, the Herald says "The day is yours" and Henry turfs it into the mud? Kinda looks like that. NOT comfy.

I shudder to think of the hate mail my hips and back will be sending me tomorrow morning.