Breakfast the Eighty-Fifth

Doppelganger shreddies and banana.

I know that yoga isn't a competitive sport; however, it's hard not to feel like you're losing when everyone else can put their head on the floor and you can't. Mostly I'm used to being quite adept at sports, with the notable exception of the high jump, oh and the javelin and shot put (but how much does one really mind not being able to launch a solid metal ball in to the air?). So, the fact that I remain so comprehensively hopeless at folding myself in half is beginning to rankle.

Failing to excel in something sporting is rather uncharted territory for me -- which is not to say that I'm some sort of sporting prodigy; it's just that I'm reasonably co-ordinated and long-limbed and this has tended to translate into an above average level of proficiency at hitting balls and running fast. But coordination and residual muscle tone from years of running around hockey pitches at school are no help in a yoga class.

I'm finally beginning to understand the look of undiluted terror that flashes across my less co-ordinated friends' faces when you throw them an apple or a set of keys... Some people are not made for catching things, and others -- it seems -- are not designed for folding in half.