Yoga. I know what you’re saying. Really, Higgins? You? Aren’t you supposed to be um…flexible and athletic and serious and stuff?
You are. I’m not. The teacher, who weighs perhaps 90 pounds and can do all sorts of freakish and bizarre things with her body, keeps correcting me, though to be honest, I can never tell if I’ve got those multisyllabic moves right. Because I like the sound of the moves the teacher announces, I find myself muttering under my breath as I struggle to get my ankle out of the rope strap without spraining something. “Hakuna matata,” I whisper (or something like that). This brings on the giggles, which I try unsuccessfully to convert to deep breathing. The teacher says things like “breathe down your spine,” and I think, irritably, “I can only breathe into my lungs! How can all these people breathe down their spines? Huh?” I feel lumpish and awkward. It’s so not me. Cage fighting…that’s much more me. Especially with this guy, right? Now THAT would be fun.
But unfortunately, cage fighting isn’t offered anywhere near me. Also, I signed up for 8 classes. Will let you know how it goes.