I know the devil

And she's a little woman, who's really, really good at yoga.

We've (me & husband) have started going to "partner yoga."
I haven't mentioned this before, but it's time. We both like yoga, have taken it before and decided to go together, & lo & behold - of course hippie, earth-loving Ann Arbor has something as cheesy as partner yoga. It's cheaper than couples therapy and probably more beneficial.
So, anyway it starts out weird... with a loooong hug. Then next thing I know, I'm doing downward facing dog and he's standing behind me and we're like oookay.... where is this going?
Then it goes normal, just regular poses and such, but this woman has forced me to discover new and exciting muscle groups and torture them. She turns my muscles to pudding. The crazy things she asks me to do with my limbs leave me quivering and she's over there demonstrating in pure perfection. Put your body in the up position of a "push-up," only instead of being on your palms, do it on your forearms, and just hold in the "up" position. Hold it. Hold it. Lift your hips so you don't hurt your lower back. Hold it. Hurts doesn't it?

I want to be good, but this shit is hard. I'm about as flexible as a barbie. I wake up every Saturday whining with every motion. How can entire new areas hurt so much? Every week? And combine that with the volleyball I've been playing on Mondays... by Tuesday I'm a sack of aching, moldy pudding.
I'm going to keep at it. Soon I'll be able to do a handstand while my leg is twisted around my body with my elbow in my ear.
It will be great.