Threw a fit in yoga class today. Quietly, of course, not to disturb the others in the class, but a fit nonetheless. I sneak in and set up, and the first position off the bat is one that’s impossible for me to do. Virasana–hero’s pose.

Bending the knees is no problem. It’s the thighs and calves. All those years of Highland dancing gave me calves like baseballs. They do not play well in that position. Plus, I’m short. I’d have to fold up a blanket the size of a milk crate to get my butt (and there’s quite a bit of that) high enough off the ground to make this pose even remotely comfortable. But I’m a tough gal. I teach in the ‘hood. I figure I can put up with it for long enough to move out of position, but noooooooooo. Apparently, we’re going to do all kinds of arm and shoulder stretching, all while in virasana. So my thighs are screaming, I’m pissed, I rearrange myself into half-lotus until they move. They don’t. Now my head’s full of screaming and self-loathing and lots of other words that really don’t belong while you’re in a yoga class. And they are not going away. So I did. Took my asana right out of there.

Then I sat by the pool, watched my gorgeous daughter swim, and cried.
Maybe I’m PMSing. I hope I’m PMSing. If not…well, let’s not think about that too hard.