Velvet Verbosity

This is my brain on Yoga:

Ok, it’s hot in here, but I can take it.  I’m naturally flexible, this will be a piece of cake.  So what that that woman can fold her body in half?  So what?

10 minutes in:

Ok, yes, yes, breathe in, fingers locked, reach up, stretch from the waist, lean to the right, ow that hurts, oops…arm flat to my ears, right, ouch, no I’m not bending any further, she can’t tell, how can she tell how far I can really lean if I’m willing to feel PAIN??  Nope, I’m staying right here and I’ll just make a face like I’m pushing it.

30 minutes in:

Dammit, lock the leg, LOCK the leg.  I fecking hate yoga!  I’m just gonna walk out of here, who CARES if everyone will think I’m wimping out.  FECK them.  I  fecking hate yoga!

45 minutes in:

Ok, floor poses.  I can do this.  What?  Touch my forehead to my knees and pull my heels off the floor?  No.  I don’t think so. FECK you.

While laying on the floor in resting pose, “shananana” (or something like that):

My t-shirt is too tight.  It’s clinging to my skin.  I need to take it off.  NOW!  Oh my god, I just want to grab it in my sweaty fists and tear it right down the middle.

Wow.

What if I went stark raving mad in this over 90 degree heat?  What if that one little circuit that keeps us from going completely batty just shorts out right here, right now?  What if I didn’t just THINK that I wanted to tear my shirt off, but actually DID it because I had gone insane, and that part of the brain that keeps people from doing all the crazy sh*t they think had just sparked and fizzled for the last time?  What would people do if I just let out a primal scream and tore my clothes off and then walked around the room looking lost and vacant while mumbling incoherently about random things?

Now that would make class interesting.

One hour in:

Are we done yet?

During the crazy breathing exercise:

What?  What?  What?  Ack!

And then I fell over dead.