Coming out even

One of my fellow yogis had to leave the session early.  “Quick reverse your leg opener before you go,” Dawn instructed.  So there I am, right leg forward, bent knee, left leg stretched out behind me balancing (sort of balancing) on my toes, arms up in the air wavering a little (okay, wavering a lot to prevent falling over).  I couldn’t get out of the pose gracefully let alone replicate the pose on the opposite side quickly.  But then Dawn added, “You’ve got to come out even.”  And I was on board.

Maybe that’s why I like yoga so well.  I like to come out even.  I go back for another scoop of ice cream if I have one bite too many of pie.  My whipped cream has to last to the very last drop of strawberry shortcake.  When I was little, I’d practice writing with my left hand so it wouldn’t feel left out.  My brother was worse than me.  He played Monopoly, his left hand against his right hand.  He cheated for his left hand.

Whenever we are in downward dog (or as I call it “stink bug pose”), Dawn says persuasively, “Lift your right leg to the ceiling, and then sweep your foot forward between your hands.”  Sure that’s gonna happen.  She does realize, doesn’t she, that when I’m bent over, certain body parts droop slightly (that’s putting it mildly) getting in the way of a flawless forward motion.  I’ve never been able to sweep my leg from the back of my yoga mat to the front of my mat in one smooth effortless movement.  It’s more like grab my leg on its forward attempt and yank it in front of my body.  “Exhale.  Low lunge,” Dawn continues.  “Bend your knee more and sink your buttocks down (isn’t that the usual direction heavier items fall), making a bigger crease at the front of your thigh.”  Any bigger crease and I’d be like pulling the drumstick off a broasted chicken.  “Now raise your arms overhead and come into a Warrior One pose.  And let’s hold it for few breaths.”  What’s this “let’s” thing?  I can see her standing there watching us; she’s breathing easily.

I don’t know where Dawn learned to count, but her few are not the same as my few.  I’ve panted fifteen times by the time she counts to three.  It’s either that or hold my breath to keep from toppling over.  I look more like a wounded warrior than Warrior One. 

But Dawn’s right.  After a stretching workout on one side, I’m convinced one leg is at least two inches longer than the other one.  So I stick with it.  I’ve got to come out even.

Just between you and, I know she says she wants to come out even, but personally I think there’s more to these routines than that.  I think she’s a spy.  I’ve seen her pull a list of secret torturous routines from her back pocket, written on a wadded up napkin.

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