Hearing instructions to sustain my ujjayi breathing as sweat burns my eyes and my core temperature hovers near spontaneous combustion, I think to myself “not bloody likely”. Attempting to clasp my hands behind my back in humble warrior is like trying to catch a wet fish without a towel (those Pike Place boys use towels, I’ve seem them).
I adhered to the Patthabi Jois mantra of “practice and all is coming”, but all was not coming. My practice was like the definition of crazy, doing the same thing over and over the same way and expecting a different result. I practiced on my own and attended classes and workshops for almost 4 years with only minimal progress in my ability.