Sixteen
Oliver
I think I may have underestimated the level to which Elle wants to torture me.
Thor and I take the stairs next to Henry’s door up to a humble-looking studio.
There’s only one room, which means the number of people who will witness this should be minimal.
One point Oliver. I walk up to a cranky-looking woman at the front desk who raises her brows as soon as she sees me.
She whips her red ponytail in my direction and suppresses a smile.
“You must be Oliver,” she says, trying to keep her voice neutral.
“Oh, great,” I mutter. She’s got other people in on it. I’m so screwed.
“You can set up wherever. Class starts in a few.” She pauses for a moment and looks down at Thor before adding, “She usually ties the dog’s leash to a chair by the side.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. I don’t like the way she said “the dog,” but I don’t say anything. Elle brings him here all the time. Why is this lady so cranky about it?
I walk into the studio, which has a wall lined with mirrors.
All the other yoga people have their mats lengthwise, facing the mirror.
I take the mat at the end of the back row, placing my water bottle off to the corner.
I discreetly take my sweatshirt off, but I still feel the side-eyes of everyone in the room. How did I get myself into this?
There is one mat set up horizontally in front of the mirror.
It must belong to Elle. As soon as I think of her, she appears from a door on the adjacent wall.
She is wearing skin-tight blue leggings and a black muscle tee that she has tied in a knot behind her back.
The shirt says “Nama-stay-in-bed” in large script letters.
Before I can appreciate her long hair, she flips her head over and throws it up in a bun.
She turns to look at herself in the mirror, tucking a few strands behind her ears.
As she reaches for a headset on the floor, she sees me in the reflection. An evil smile spreads across her face.
This is going to be painful.
She scampers over to Thor to give him a quick kiss on the head, then turns around to stick her tongue out at me before returning to her place at the front of the room. I flip her off in return.
“Welcome, friends,” Elle says, her voice amplified. I see her cringe when she says “friends.”
“Okay, so this is a beginner yoga flow we’re doing today.” Elle speaks with a confidence that I don’t usually hear from her. I find myself feeling… proud of her? Happy for her?
Elle keeps to herself a lot. Not that I know everything about her, but from what I do know, she’s home and at work. Occasionally she mentions her friend Lucy or her brother, but not a whole lot else. It’s refreshing to see her in a space where she is in control, where she can shine.
“For those of you who are new, my name is Elle. I am by no means a master yogi—” Yogis! That’s what the yoga people are called! “—but I like to flow my own way and I hope you have some fun today.” She smiles and instructs everyone to take a seat on the mat.
I fold my legs under me and sit in the middle of the mat.
I don’t think I’ve sat like this since fifth grade.
Mainly because my legs are so long that I look like a contorted pretzel when I try to cross them.
When I sit down, the mat curls up under me, so I shift to fix it, lining it back up with the line of one of the planks on the wood floor.
“Let’s take a moment to settle and arrive on the mat,” Elle says, folding her hands over her chest. The rest of the class mimics her movements. I just can’t get on board with the group “ohmmm” mentality, so I watch silently from my corner.
“Let’s take stock of our expectations for this practice.
I want you to release any ideas or preconceived notions of what this is supposed to look like.
” Her voice is monotone, gentle and calm, and I get the feeling she’s talking to me specifically.
“Let’s just move our bodies and be open to failure.
But let’s also have some fun. Some of us are beginners.
Some of us are just taking time for ourselves today.
I think this is going to be an awesome class.
” She opens her eyes and shoots me a wink.
“Take a deep breath in, and as you exhale, flutter your eyes open and let’s get this thing rolling. ”
She prompts everyone to come to all fours. I move at a beat behind the rest, watching to make sure I’m doing everything right. We do things that are called “cat cows,” which I don’t fully understand. How is sticking your head and butt up in the air similar to a cow?
We go into a downward-facing dog, which surprisingly doesn’t suck because it stretches out my hamstrings and my calves. I awkwardly turn my head to see what everyone else looks like in this position, to make sure I’m not the only schmo with my butt up in the air.
“Take a few moments to pedal out here,” Elle says, and I watch as she moves her heels up and down off the mat. That must be pedaling. “Feel where you are in your body. If anything I cue is not working for you, please feel free to modify and do what is best for you in your body.”
She takes a breath and I can hear her shallow exhale through the microphone.
“Now find stillness in your downward dog, and stay with me because I like to do some funky sun salutations. Because, well, it’s my class and I can do whatever I want,” she says with an airy laugh.
A quiet ripple of laughter moves through the room.
Elle guides us through a series of movements. They get repetitive after a while, but five minutes later, sweat is starting to bead on my skin. Is this hot yoga? Is that why I’m sweating? I didn’t realize I could sweat from stretching.
We’re back in downward dog again, which seems to be our home base. Apparently these sun salutations are just a warm up? I hope there’s less down-dogging in the rest of this, because my shoulders are tired already.
I take a break from the next down dog and stretch out my wrists. Elle continues, “Let’s flow. Inhale, lift your right leg up and back.”
I watch as she kicks her leg to the ceiling behind her. I can see every muscle in her leg working, and she points her foot gracefully as she bends her knee towards her face and comes down into a lunge.
“Crescent lunge,” she pronounces, lifting her arms over her head.
She looks like a statue. A beaming, bubbly, blonde statue that could care less how she looks in front of all these people.
She is flowing to her own rhythm. Even the music she is playing is…
sexy. I expected there to be chanting or soothing white noise in the background.
But these sound like songs I would hear on a Spotify playlist. They pair perfectly with the intensity of Elle’s movements.
This whole scene could be such a turn on. But Elle is my friend. Who is currently dating my other friend. No turning on allowed here.
In my daze, I don’t notice that Elle is staring at me.
Her hands are still raised and she flicks her wrist as if to say, “What are you doing?” I’m the only one in the room that is still sitting on his heels, so I stumble to mirror Elle’s position.
I make a face at her, and I hear a hint of a chuckle in her microphone.
When Elle says “warrior two,” which for some reason makes me think of ancient Chinese warriors with samurai swords, she actually looks like a goddamn warrior.
Her arms are taught when she stretches them out, her bum is flexed and her legs look so strong beneath her.
I try to shake the image of those thighs clenching around my waist from my head, but I lose my balance admiring her.
I try to be as subtle as possible as I find my footing again.
“If you feel yourself falling, come back to your breath. Find that ujjayi breath, focus on one thing, find your drishti.” She looks at me directly when she says that word. “One thing that’s constant, not moving. Focus on it and don’t let go.”
When she finally blinks, she loses her balance and teeters to the side. She laughs immediately. “And know that if you fall, that’s your muscles learning. Just get back into it.”
The crowd laughs with her, a few of them losing their balance as well.
I think my expectations of this class were very misguided.
I expected… more of a facade, I guess? Serious chanting and vogueing and shit.
But Elle is so real. She is authentic to who she is, and she’s just trying to enjoy the movements.
The people in the room gravitate towards that energy. They love her.
“Drag your right hip back and straighten your right leg, triangle pose,” Elle instructs. I watch her lean forward with both of her legs straight, her body so stealthy and lean, she looks like she’s moving through water.
“Touch down to your shin, the floor, or a block on the inside of your foot.” She holds her position for a moment and then stands up and starts wandering around the room, critiquing the poses of the other people.
I study the women around me, who are literally scoffing under their breath at my attempts to mirror their positions.
I try to match my legs to the legs of the woman next to me, but when I spread my legs that wide, the mat shifts.
I step off of it to line it back up with the wood plank on the floor.
I spread my legs again, but closer together this time, and keep them straight as I try to touch the ground near my front foot.
I notice that the woman in front of me has a foam block under her hand.
I grab one that is lying next to my mat and stack it as high as it goes to alleviate the stretch in my legs.
Elle’s voice gets closer, but I know if I move my head to find her, I’ll lose my balance, so I let out my best inconspicuous exhale and try not to move.
“Your left shoulder should be in line with your left hip,” she says softly. God Almighty, this is like a game of Twister.