I occasionally suffer from delusions.  Some recurring ones:  that there’s a marathon runner within.  That I’ll master the preparation of an elaborate dessert.  That I’m really good at DIY projects.

Over the years, I’ve come to accept that these are lies that I tell myself.  But a grey area remains – things that I wish to master, that seem slightly contrary to my restless, aggressive, impatient nature.  Things that seem like they’d help me grow.  Maybe even, wonder of wonders, relax.

So yeah, I signed up for prenatal yoga and donned my stretchy pants this afternoon for the first time in months.

It was not a rousing success.

First, I had trouble in the warm-up part of the class with breathing.  I hate thinking about breathing, but I told myself that I was going to get it right this time, be a good yogi.  After all, if you’re a bad prenatal yoga student, well … by my twisted, upper-middle class standards, you’re a bad mom.

Instead of mastering breathing, I got dizzy.  Instead of stopping, opening my eyes and taking a drink of water, I told myself to suck it up.

And hit the ground.

Yup.  Less than ten minutes into my first ever prenatal yoga class, I pitched over like a felled oak.

The rest of the class went better.  I’m good at moving, and stretching.  Story of my life.  In fact, if anything, I kept waiting for the intensity to amp up.

I’m sure I scared the pants off my yoga instructor, so I didn’t dare do anything but quietly comply for the next 80, mercifully event-free minutes.

And, of course, I now have to discuss this with my doctor.  I am dreading this conversation, as I dread any admission of weakness or imperfection.  Don’t get me wrong.  Ironman I am not.  But owning up to a specific issue?  It’s contrary to my just-get-on-with-it nature.

Of course, a couple years back, my intention to “just work through” a nasty case of the flu masked a kidney infection until it was bad enough that I landed in the hospital overnight.  Ahem.

I’ve long since abandoned hope of ever achieving inner peace.  Unbridled joy, yes.  But a deep and meaningful spiritual relaxation?  It’s not in my DNA.  Plus, I rather like my nervous energy.

But damn it all, a little Eastern-leaning grace can’t hurt me.  

Unless I land on my water bottle next time.