I arrived at yoga about 40 minutes early, which was strange and unexpected, and sat outside reading Traitor until the Jo-Lowe showed up. We got to talking about turkey day, because of course today is indeed turkey day here in the C-da, and I was lamenting the fact that I'm a few years past being able to look forward to a gut-bustingly large meal. It simply no longer appeals. Especially this year: my body's a lot harder than it used to be. I like being able to move and breathe and absorb water. I no longer relish filling myself with concrete and waiting for the effects to wear off. I retaliated by undergoing, I think, the single best yoga class I've ever done - my body did every single thing I asked it to. Every single thing. Was I flat-out yogi perfect? Of course not. But I hit or exceeded my own level in every single case. Maybe the point of all this was learning what to ask of myself.