Wee Kate

Another fly-by week here in the Teacher Training empire. As a former Classics student, I can appreciate certain timeless imperial aspects of such a setting. Proscription being one of them. After Monday afternoon's debrief with a couple of volunteers, I decided to revive the anablog, i.e., pen on paper (or stylus on wax tablet if you want to go all ancient). There was a much-needed bright spot after the debriefing: I decided to go back to basics. The love of this yoga is why I'm here. I'll just get back to focusing on the yoga for the next coupla' weeks. And dang if that didn't do the trick. Note: my practice still sucks so hard its cheeks are meeting in the middle.
 
Reminder: Facebook, while enabling me to contact many people I couldn't otherwise, and has been the portal to many worthwhile life moments, also has caused some considerable ruckus in an already disorganized existence. Is your life too peaceful? Try consolidating your friends list for some instant chuckles. Huh boy. Those adept with social media can rightfully say that I'm the agent of all my misfortunes online, but still. Effing FACEBOOK is all.
 
Posturized yogis: This week we finished the posture clinics for all 26 yoga poses in the Bikram Beginning Series. I had one serious blank in the second last clinic, working on Head to Knee With Stretching. Knee to my head is what I needed to get the words back. Sorry about that, kids. The last clinic, Spine-Twisting Posture, aka "Final Spinal," probably wasn't my most glorious moment, either. There's a line from the dialogue that starts "H-E-E-L, your heel should touch the knee," which I delivered clearly, and then -- aieee -- nothing. I blinked, and said, "F-U-C-K, fuck, I've dropped the dialogue." The audience, bless 'em, went with it, and I regained my composure enough to give the rest of the lines more or less verbatim. Afterwards I assured the evaluators (the lovely Jo, Nikki and Jackie) that, no, I really wouldn't say such a thing in a real class. So that's it for working with a net . . . the next time I say those words in front of others, they'll be real students. Yes, it is causing me to snort awake with panic at least once a night.
 
You know it's Week Eight when: you have guest yogis teaching the yoga classes, skilled teachers whose generous hearts prompt them to share their accumulated wisdom about teaching, yoga, and life with the group of trainees. Some of whom are lying on their mats, muttering "Will you for the love of God SHUT UP?" Of course, we've also been told that some things we hear won't make sense until we've been teachers for awhile. I can see why . . . current fatigue levels have made the prospect of learning even one more thing feel like pushing an elephant uphill in a shopping cart.
 
Overall: A much, much happier week, funnier, more accepting, more worldly wise. I've enjoyed Himself's peripatetic (showoff word, sorry) lecture style, really enjoyed Mrs. Himself's talks, and tried not to honk with laughter at the ticked-off Bettina's sighs over a lecture she considered pointless (not one from Himself or the Missus, I hasten to add). I know I'm going to miss the hell out of these people and most of these situations. One more week. It's been a gift.