I’d always felt I had the potential to be a yoga person. I even flirted with the idea that I might actually be a yoga person a few years ago when Bikram was pretty much a weekly activity. Of course, I was in my youth back then, and sweating to the point of vomiting seemed vaguely exotic. After the allure wore off, I plunged into a lazy three-year hiatus which I only recently emerged from. Blinking in the bright sunlight as I squoze back into my too-small Lycra, I was ready to give (non-Bikram) yoga another go. At first, I attributed my body’s reluctance to cooperate fully to my three years out of the game. My hips screamed out at the mat work. I couldn't touch my toes or bend double over my legs. But despite my ‘maybe next week’ mentality, I just never really seemed to make any progress. I would catch myself in the mirror in even the simplest of warrior poses and I just wouldn't look right. It wasn’t that I was screamingly bad. No one would have picked me out as terrible. ...