Don't do it, man. Don't do it.
Yoga class sometimes takes me back to the Academy days. It takes me back to standing out on the parade field at 4:30pm on a Friday, sweating my butt off at the position of attention (head erect, eyes in the boat, chin in, shoulders back, etc. etc. it sucks) waiting for the band to play the music that meant drill was over (Bingo!). It takes me back to morning PT as a swab, doing those terrible multi-planar lunges waiting for the demonic 2/c to tell us to recover. It takes me back to marching tours (whoops, don't get an alcohol offense as a 4/c!) carrying my rifle back and forth through the old quad, waiting for the quarterdeck watchstander to tell me my hour is up. Or in one case, to tell me that some upperclass saw me talking to the other guy doing a marching tour and that we'd have to come back and march again tomorrow.
Xiaobin- demonstrating proper POA when you've busted both your knees playing rugby and you're stuck in a wheelchair until further notice.
Yoga takes me back to the times where it was my job to stand perfectly still (or march like a perfect robot) and try to forget about the fly that just landed on my nose or the fact that my entire body itches because the drill uniform is made of goat hair or something. It's about structure and discipline and finding your happy place as you wait for it all to end.