“Does anyone have any conditions or injuries I should know about?”
“I’ve got a list as long as your arm, but I know my modifications. Don’t worry about it,” I want to tell the substitute yoga teacher. But I don’t. Because it’s none of his damn business. Or, more accurately, it’s not the business of anyone else in class. I do my thing. And honestly, I usually don’t know what’s bothering me today until class starts. I think I do, but I’m wrong. Almost every week.
“Did your doctors sign off on you doing yoga?” he asks the woman who’s admitted to having a torn rotator cuff. I smile. My doctors LOVE that I do yoga. I’m doing half their job for them. They don’t understand how I still have problems. But I’ve been able to identify the cycle of strength, weakness, tightness, pain that tells me to keep looking for an answer even if I feel fine. Because it’s coming again.