I thought it would just be another class.

---

My gym offers free classes.

Different kinds of yoga too.

I assumed if it was included in the membership,
it probably wasn’t serious.

Yin.

No idea what that meant,
but I signed up anyway.

It was a noon class.
Mostly retirees.

I walked in late
and unrolled my Lululemon mat dead center.

A quiet statement.

Ready to prove I could hold.

The poses.
The discomfort.
Myself.

I hate the few minutes before class starts.

People glancing around.
Small talk.
Stretching without really stretching.

I sat cross-legged on my mat,
hyper-aware of my body,
waiting for it to begin.

The instructor thanked us for being here.

I remember thinking:

Let’s get on with it.

Hand on heart.
Hand on belly.

Feel your breath.

In.
Out.

She said we could close our eyes,
if we were comfortable.

I almost rolled mine.

Then something shifted.

Time slowed.
Or thickened.

Nothing to do.
Nothing to win.

Thank yourself for being here, she said.
For choosing yourself for this hour.

I stopped scanning for the next pose.

The floor pressed back against me.

That ache I usually outran
had nowhere to go.

Breathe in love.
Breathe out what you no longer need.

My body recoiled.

You deserve care.
You deserve love.

Warm tears slipped down my face.

Slow at first.

Then all at once.

I started crying so hard
I couldn’t stop.

Not graceful tears either.

Full body shaking.
Trying to breathe through it.

Something opened
without asking permission first.

The woman next to me moved.

Or left.

I don’t know.

I didn’t look.

Tears soaked through my shirt,
My mat.
My chest.

When we moved into downward dog,
I could barely breathe.

The room kept going.

So did the instructor.

So did everyone else.

And somehow,
so did I.

By the time savasana came,
I couldn’t stay there anymore.

I still couldn’t catch my breath.