CHAPTER 12 / 4. THE YOGA POSE THAT KILLED MY BACK™

STEP 1: THE BUTT-SCOOT INITIATION: It starts innocently enough. Just you, the aircraft, and a door rail engineered during the Cold War. You throw a leg over the sill like you're mounting a disgruntled camel, then begin the sacred ritual known as The Butt-Scoot—an entry technique that involves no dignity, no leverage, and zero biomechanical approval. Your lower spine protests immediately. Your hips rotate into a position not even yoga cults attempt. But you press on.

STEP 2: THE SHOULDER WRENCH REACH™

Now comes the part where you must grab the overhead crossbeam—a bar designed by sadists, placed just far enough away to dislocate something vital.

You stretch.
You reach.
Your joints pop like microwave popcorn.

It’s not a pull-up. It’s a prison-yard heave of desperation, powered by regret and the last 12 grams of functional rotator cuff. Somehow, against all odds, you slide into the front seat. You exhale. You are alive.

For now.

STEP 3: THE LEFT-LEG MIRACLE

Your left leg followed.
Mostly in one piece.
Some cartilage has filed for medical leave.
But structurally, you're winning.
You are now 85% inside the aircraft.
You could technically fly like this.

But...

STEP 4: THE RIGHT LEG DILEMMA™

Your right leg remains.
Outside. Dangling.
Flapping like last week’s laundry and emotionally disconnected from the rest of your body.

You now face three options:

• Option A: Amputate and ship it via UPS to your destination.
• Option B: Fold yourself like a cheap deck chair, herniate two discs, and accept a future filled with pain meds and passive-aggressive chiropractors.
• Option C: Declare the rudder “optional” and leave your foot out there. Forever. As a warning.

Either way, your back is ruined, your pride is dead, and Kalli is once again pretending not to know you.
Your wife is Googling "pilot-shaped divorce forms."

And the Super Cub?

Just silently judges you from the shade of the hangar, its bush-wheels trembling with shame.