I’m not a camper, per se, but I have been known to camp on occasion – drawn mostly by the romance of it all. Last weekend, seduced by the possibilities of stories around the campfire, roasted marshmallows and sleeping under the stars, I headed for the mountains. Unfortunately, even under the best conditions, romance can be illusory. I was awakened from my reverie, literally, by a morning encounter with a campground outhouse.

In I went. Taking a wide stance, I dropped my chin to my chest, closed my eyes and enjoyed the relief that comes after holding it all night long, asleep in a cold tent. My whole body ached, too tired for having just emerged from human hibernation – nearly twelve hours of sleep. Not Sealy Posturepedic sleep, but still. I tried to visualize myself doing yoga and breathing through the kinks. I inhaled deep – yogi deep – and nearly choked to death on the swirling tox...
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Running time: 2:59
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