Hands, and I mean REALLY hands…palm to palm….bound. Ankles crossed, comfortably too. One problem. I cannot bear to hold the posture, and I have no idea why. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable. My stomach wasn’t rumbling, I wasn’t covered in flop-sweat (per Sir’s recommendation, I abstained from coffee and from my usual 16 ounces of water, I mean, Diet Raspberry Snapple, this morning). But my hands refuse to hold the grip.
Sir even came over to me afterwards and said, “It’s not that you can’t do the pose. Your hands are firmly bound. Your hips aren’t a problem – your legs seem like they want to be where they are.” He suggested some kind of mental resistance, which was echoed by a shala mate in the dressing room later on. Then he suggested I do more housework – to make me stronger. Could be. But, ah, no. I don’t think so.
I am very excited. THRILLED. Much more thrilled than I am fully comfortable admitting, since that would be a blatant admission of being attached to the pose, to the physical practice, and no one who practices Ashtanga should be attached to a pose or the physical practice, right? I mean, no one really IS, right?