Around September, I tend to start thinking about doing yoga. It's like some magic switch I think will make my getting another year older in November less painful, somehow. Of course, a few years ago, I was doing yoga most days and went to that writing retreat where I slept on a fold out bed after riding a Greyhound bus (and before riding it again) and sat on the floor a good bit, as there weren't seats for everyone, and I was one of the younger participants. After a couple of days of that, I then slept in the old bed in my old room. I got back to Kansas City and put my back out putting my pants on a few days later.
Yoga didn't save me. Just goes to show you can't control everything.