In which I attempt yoga ...

This week Carly joined a gym. I got a free one-week pass out of the deal. So today we went to a yoga class. The teacher came in five minutes late, in heels and a dress, and immediately began a continuous stream of instructions as she situated herself at the front of the room.

Being me, I did not completely follow her command to close our eyes and breathe. I am opposed to closing my eyes in unfamiliar public places, so I did not do that. But I am in favor of breathing, so I did that. Well, as I breathed she began removing articles of clothing. She seemed to be wearing shorts underneath the dress, but she definitely added a shirt and removed said dress as we all continued breathing and some of us closed our eyes. Apparently the eye-closing is less for relaxation than for some minimal form of modesty.

Despite realizing that this class might not be quite as Puritan as I am, and yes I know that few things are as Puritan as I am, for the first ten seconds of instructions after the breathing and eye-closing business, I felt pretty good about myself. I could totally do the whole turn-my-head-side-to-side routine. Then things became more complicated. For the next hour, I twisted and wriggled and tied myself up in knots and attempted a few maneuvers my body has not attempted since the age of 12. It turns out that I am not a natural at yoga. Shocker, I know. But apparently the skills required to repeatedly win the balancing contests in ballet class are not the same ones needed to remain balanced while flailing various limbs. Dang. Or perhaps one must work on such skills more than once a decade. Something to consider ...