Breakdown #1

9:30 AM class: Emmy
Today's mantra: It doesn't have to be perfect.

After last night's standing-bow-podium incident, my hamstring is so tight that I can barely get into any posture that requires bending forward. I used to lock out both knees, no problem, in most of these poses. Now it kills to try hands-to-feet, standing head-to-knee, triangle. It's worse than my very first class.

The hamstring, combined with how tight my hips are in the morning, and how difficult the standing series is anyway... okay, I'm just miserable. This is hard, it hurts, and I'm miserable. I want to cry, but there aren't any tears, just dry sobs, anxious hyperventilation. I'm next to Crying Yogi and when we lay down for the first savasana, she says, "Just let it go." I rarely give myself permission to cry, but she just did.

Suddenly I'm five years old again and crying. I don't know why it's always five years old. I don't remember anything particularly traumatic from when I was five -- as opposed to seven, or nine. But the five-year-old me is apparently more miserable than the current me, and I lie there and think, aren't you done yet? How much more of this is there? When we turn around for cobra, Crying Yogi touches my arm. She lays out a couple poses to deal with her own shit, and I touch her arm, though I get the feeling she wants to be left alone. Later that evening I thank her. She responds nonchalantly -- "Hey, it's just normal for me." I'm a little envious.

I have also reconsidered my savasana-shower policy. Fuck that. I can't move, let alone fight the crowds and noise in the changing room. Five minutes won't hurt.