Three shall be the number of the counting . . .

Several fellow yogis have agreed that there are three things that ensure a longer life: the ability to sleep, to cry, and to shit. I'm happy to announce that I have absolutely no problem crying in the yoga tent, although the resulting stuffy nose makes the breathing a tad difficult. Last night I brimmed over when Rajashree [Mrs. Himself] recited the poem The Invitation during final savasana. Tonight my S/I joints, hip flexors and I/T bands staged a wildcat strike: I tried, really I did, to hold Full Locust pose, but had to give it up.
 
I won't go into too much detail about the other two life abilities, except to say that I do neither in the yoga tent, I promise.
 
You know what's worse than the physical pain of the pelvic girdle and its pals? The blow to the ego: I, Jane, cannot tax the old carcass the way I used to. That's really why I cried, truth to tell.
 
Delivered "Awkward" dialogue to a bench of three strict, serious men. I was tired and blah blah blah, dropped a couple of lines, had a couple of splutters, but still got through all three parts of the posture. Then I had to demonstrate the posture three times in a row: no wonder the hips were howling.
 
The lead judge, David, was someone I could probably get to like quite a lot, even though I found him quite authoritarian and hard to warm up to. Still, he and the other judges gave excellent tips on what to do if you cough and die during an actual class. "You may not remember the words, but you remember the posture. Don't strand your students. Bring them home safely." My homework this time? Get even tighter on the memorization. Work on the energy crescendo. Yep, I admit it, I was tired today. But I met another batch of super people, the roommate seems to be recuperating, and a latte awaits. Life is still quite lovely.