You Don't Have to Look Like a Willow, to BE a Willow

DeeBee suggested we go to yoga the other night. Um, this is not my usual routine. Every weekday night, I can be found cleaning dishes, yelling at someone to finish their homework, listening for signs of drowning in the bathtub AND planning lunches for the next day. But, I hadn't done yoga in a year and I try to never miss an opportunity to hang out with my DeeBee.

Tommy walks in and I'm in full throttle speed-clean mode. Telling him over, and over and over, "You know, I have to meet D for yoga at 7." Patiently, he says, over and over "Yes. I know. " Job didn't have as much patience as my husband, I swear.

I get there early. It's packed -- and no sign of Deebee. All the good spots in the back are taken. Dejectedly I walk to the front, pleading with my eyes for someone to make room for me. I take my place within a fingers length of the instructor, next to a willow. In fact, everyone up there was doing "warm up" poses or serenly siting in lotus pose, reflecting. D walks in and the instructor helps push people apart in the back of the room. DANG IT!!

I have been doing a tremendous amount of pilates, so I know I'm pretty flexible. But, it has been at least a year since taking a yoga class... butterflies. We get under way, and I'm not embarrassing myself too badly. I remember all the names of the poses. I'm liking the instructor. I haven't fallen on anyone. This is alright, I can relax now.

About 45 minutes into the session, we are doing some final leg poses. Deep runner's lunges and the like. Then she says, "And if you feel like it, maybe you could move into Monkey Pose." This confuses me, so I have to look. "Oh, I bet I could do that." Before I know it, I'm in the splits. I'M IN THE SSSSSS-Puh-LLLLL-LITZ!!! And, I'm 40!! If the instructor would have said, "And if you feel like it, maybe you could move into the splits." I'd have said, "Hell No!!." She threw me off with the whole Monkey Pose business. Oh, what I wouldn't have given for a picture of my face when I plopped down into the splits. It wasn't a oh-I'm-4-inches- off-the-ground-let-me-push-myself-down kind of split. It was a I'm-freakin-Nadia-Comaneci kind of split. The entire time I was yelling inside my head, "I'm doing the splits! Holy crap, I'm doing the splits! And it doesn't hurt, does it?, no it doesn't hurt."

After class, Deebee was praising me. She asked me if it hurt. I told her that shockingly it did not. Then added, maybe she could ask me in the morning. You know, when I have huge bags of ice duct taped to my thighs and I am unable to walk.