I choose to just go for it. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, I hurriedly shed my clothes and stuffed them in a cube as some of the more comfortable-looking ladies took the time to fold their undergarments and workout gear. (Side note: Should one wear yoga gear if one is not actually going to wear the yoga gear? I came straight to class in skinny jeans and a sweater.)
As we disrobed, a few of us made awkward conversation while carefully avoiding the mirror. One fresh-faced girl in the class nonchalantly mentioned her recent experience at Burning Man and giddily chatted up the teacher in the nude. I got the whole I’m-totally-more-comfortable-naked-than-in-clothes vibe from her. I found myself searching for the nearest window, from which to throw myself it seemed, but it was too late at that point.
We gathered to sit cross-legged facing the (very naked and perfectly toned) instructor, Monika. Class had begun, and Monika was saying something that I assume was very inspiring about our bodies—something about finding ourselves beautiful from the inside and out. Unfortunately, I couldn’t process a single word as I was in a rather vulnerable cat-cow pose that looked anything but beautiful from my point of view. My complexion resembled a tub of mayo. I instantly regretted not taking the class during the summer.
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