You wake up early on a Sunday morning, the promise of fresh coffee the only thing that can possibly tear you from the warmth of your bed to the autumnal cool of your flat. You shower, change, grab your physio roll and head for the studio around the corner. You know you’re lucky when it comes to this last bit; some of the Mysore posse come from Hertfordshire.
You enter a tiny, hot, damp room and are immediately able to identify what at least three people ate for dinner last night from the smell. You practice mat-to-mat with two people you barely know, each of you having to stop at points to accommodate your neighbour’s foot, or arm, or rear end (this, folks, is why they tell you to shower first)…
It’s still crazy early. Half of the people in the room will have been out last night; the rest will have been watching HBO box sets. No matter, here you all are; brave souls facing Kapotasana and Karandavasana and even-for the majority- plain old Navasana. You creak. You groan. You fall out of things. You wonder if your teacher ever loses the will to live after having to adjust you for about the thousandth time in a fairly basic spinal twist.
You look at someone doing third series. You wonder if you will ever be that bendy. You wonder if that person has had a night out since 2004.
You hope no one notices the pet hair you have just discovered all over your ancient, baggy leggings.
You make it to savasana. You realise just how much you are looking forward to breakfast. You get up and are greeted on your way downstairs by at least four people. You realise you adore them, and how sharing such an intimate space with them over such a long period of time has made them feel a little bit like family. Your body feels open. You feel energised and full of life. And it’s still only 9AM. Result!