Dr Bob is a colleague of Don’s who is quite fascinating – he’s a short portly man in his 50s, is somewhat of a genius, has been a clown, very into the arts, has run a theatre, teaches tae kwon do, has a doctorate (hence the dr part of the Bob), has prodigious children, does a whole lot of other stuff I’m forgetting (and which Don is too engrossed in work to remind me of) and is engaging and interesting and entertaining etc etc etc.
As part of our “omigosh we’re so fat” self-intervention thingy, Don and I decided that we might include some yoga in the regimen. We started idly looking about for a class (there is no shortage of yoga in Hippytown 2037) which we could walk to and, more importantly, was at a convenient time. I’m not one of these jump out of bed and greet the world smilingly at 5am freaks, I need to be dragged out of bed at around 7.40ish, so the class had to be in the evening or a weekend. Don, in the course of idle chit chat, mentioned our intent to Dr Bob, and what do you know? Mrs Dr Bob teaches yoga classes on Saturday and Sunday mornings (of course she does) nearby. And might I just say that Mrs Dr Bob is just as lovely and amazing as Dr Bob is1. Mrs Dr Bob is also staggeringly fit.
We’ve been to two beginners classes now and let me just say, I am so very very crap at yoga. This surprises me, as I had done a couple of months of beginners yoga roughly 12 years ago and was not too bad at it – certainly I could do everything with a fair degree of competence. I don’t know what has happened in those intervening years (particularly as I am fitter now than at any time since I was about 15), but Gods, I suck! And being my perfectionist self, when I suck, I suck hard.
The first week we had to kick up into a handstand against a wall. “Ah ha!” I thought, “not a problem!” (if you click over there <– on the link to my name under 'contributors', you'll see a lovely profile photo of me handstanding on the hallowed turf of the SCG). All went well – until I had to lead with my non-favoured leg, I kicked up … and fell, rather spectacularly, on my head. Hilarity ensued (well, I thought it was hilarious – everyone else was concerned).
And now, not just as a result of the falling on my head, but mainly because of general ineptitude, I get the whole: “Everyone, do this. Carol, you might want to do it this (much easier) way”.
Not the greatest thing for one’s psyche. Nonetheless, I will persist – persevering at something you are particularly terrible at has got to be good for you, right?
1I’m always baffled by super-interesting, high achieving families. How do they happen? I suppose it is too late to be born into one?