Week Two began with a class from the legendary Emmy Cleaves. There's some debate whether she's in her late 70s or late 80s, but no matter which, she is quite an amazing woman. She also delivered a lecture on pain later in the morning, which turned out to be fortuitously timed.
In the evening class, I noticed that the room temperature had risen at least 20 degrees, while the humidity went to eleven. My mantra has been "So far, so good," and I kept this up, hoping all the while that the hydrating I'd been doing during the afternoon would see me through. Not quite: during the second set of Triangle, I bent my knee, started to assume the position, and saw a curtain of black droplets lower in front of my eyes. Next: klump! on the mat. I dropped my head, grabbed my water bottle, swigged nice and long, and was back to full consciousness in a few seconds. I had to sit out a few repetitions throughout the rest of the class, but managed not to leave the room.
Afterwards I found out that at least a hundred students had left the room or been helped to leave during the hottest class so far. Himself, who was at the helm, wasn't very sympathetic, but I'd been warned to expect this. I, however, was feeling like I'd failed somehow. How was I going to survive the next class? The one after that?
In this mood I arrived at the evening lecture, where Himself was the speaker. I struggled to stay awake at first, with my valiant friend Jana telling me whenever a room monitor came by ("Jane! Stefan is looking at you") -- but only truly became alert when Himself asked if anybody knew when the first test-tube baby was born. Instantly my know-it-all, Trivial Pursuit champ brain was awake. "1978!" I hollered. "Where?" He asked. "London!" I said. He didn't even break stride: "No! IDIOT!" I immediately hooted with laughter, almost missing his explanation that the first test-tube baby was written about in the Upanishads or something equally ancient, and it was some god of gods mixing bits of one god with another to create a new one. Ah.
Back home by 2:00-ish a.m. Up at 6:00 a.m. exactly, as my body is convinced we're still on the farm. This time I'm blogging instead of shovelling poo, although I can hear some of my friends say that it's kind of hard to distinguish between the two when you're on the receiving end. Clowns.