Perfect

Apparently the secret to a rare, Perfect session at Studio is the distraction of barely repressed nausea.

Poor Rian. From the very first jump and stomach lurch I knew I was in no yogic mood, yes? But the body continues on, as it has learned so well. Habit. Jumping, streching, flying. Whilst Rian, in between breathing, swallowed convulsively and mentally calculated the quickest route to the nearest waste basket.

"Perfect, Rian." The day's yogini declared. "Wonderful, Rian."

Rian's body performs better without Rian's brain. Perhaps it is something to do with fear. Or lack of it.

The nausea remained repressed through an hour of Studio, fifteen minutes of savasana, a dash through sheets of rain to the car (Angel in the store window five feet away) and nearly the entire way up the South Hill and under the towering hospital. There, Rian had to pull over to the side of the road and elegantly puke.

Now Rian is empty, warm, stretched out and...perfect.