Just yesterday morning, for instance, she came into the bedroom while I was getting dressed.
“What’s all the moaning and groaning in here?” she demanded.
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“I’m putting on my socks,” I explained.
“You really need to start taking yoga classes to improve your flexibility,” she said.
She had a point, I suppose, because my feet do seem to be a lot further away from my hands than they used to be. But I tried yoga a few years ago on a scenic beach in Florida and it took me a month to recover. And I’m still trying to erase the memory of attempting an exercise called “backward dog,” which involves kneeling, extending one arm forward, one leg backward and ended with me toppling sideways into the scenic sand.
So I’m not very optimistic about being able to survive the four weeks of exercising that lead to the ability to do the splits. One requires lying on your back, pulling your outstretched leg backwards with a towel and bouncing. Another involves something called a “legs-spread sumo stretch.” According to the book’s author, “The pain eventually goes away,” but I don’t find that very encouraging. I guess a lot depends on one’s definition of “eventually.”
But even supposing I do make it through the exercise and reach the ultimate goal of being able to do the splits, I even an ever greater concern.
How long will it take for the emergency squad to arrive and get me back up again?