“You said it was optional…taking off your shirt,” Janey whispered to CJ. “Everyone in here has his or her shirt off. I think I see Anderson Cooper over there without his shirt on. I can’t have Anderson Cooper seeing me topless.”
“They’re all exercising their option,” CJ hissed back as the two women moved through the room, keeping their eyes glued to the floor. “What are you so worried about? You have great boobs. I breast-fed twins. I have udders! And Anderson Cooper is in the front row. There’s no way he’ll see you. Also, you’re not his type.”
Janey slowly removed her shirt, pulling one arm in and then the other, letting it hang around her neck for a moment, before finally lifting it over her head in submission to peer pressure. She hated being naked in front of strangers. It was one of many reasons she’d never gone to Burning Man, even after it became trendy for fashion designers and tech billionaires to attend the desert festival and exercise their right to take mushrooms and have sex with strangers without judgment.
“Let’s put our mats in the back.” Janey found enough room for two yoga mats in the very back corner next to an electrical outlet, above which was painted the word RECHARGE.
“Fine by me.” CJ patted her belly. “I’m wearing control-top leggings to cover most of my stomach. Same ones I used when I was pregnant.”
Janey’s shoulders involuntarily curled in toward her breasts to provide them shelter, but no one paid her any mind. Their eyes were already closed, their mouths set in composed lines. There were only four men in the class, and none of them was obviously a pervert. Besides Anderson Cooper, they each had hair that hung below their ears and tattoos in Sanskrit. The women’s breasts came in all shapes and sizes, and Janey couldn’t help but examine them. There were round nipples and oval nipples. There were nipples in the shape of Idaho. Some breasts hung low, others pointed in two different directions.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” came a shrill voice attached to the woman with the mat next to Janey’s. She was wearing a black T-shirt that read KINDNESS IS MY RELIGION. “Her mat is touching mine. Your mat is touching mine,” Kindness shrieked at the woman on the other side of her, a slight girl with frizzy auburn hair. “I can’t get settled while your mat touches mine. I can’t get my fucking zen! Move it. You need to move it now!” The girl’s face began to crumple as though she might burst into tears. She slowly shifted her mat, and Kindness sank down to the ground and removed the mantra T-shirt, revealing two surgically altered domes.
For some reason the lyrics to “La Vie Bohème” from the musical Rent popped into Janey’s head right then. She’d seen the show on Broadway with Beau four times. To yoga, to yogurt, to rice and beans and cheese…Neither bohemia nor bonhomie was alive in this room.
A very pregnant woman pulled her mat in front of Janey’s. “Congrats,” Janey whispered and smiled.
The woman grinned beatifically back. “You too. How far along are you?” The woman was staring at Janey’s stomach.
Don’t be rude, Janey thought. “Just a couple of months,” she whispered back.
Elizabeth Madden slid gracefully to the front of the room. “Can we all start in a comfortable seated position? I know all of you are anxious to begin. But before we do let’s review the pillars of confidence. First off we must have a poised posture as we take to our mats. Shoulders back and down. We set our gaze with intent. Focus your eyes like you mean it. Tap into the primal power of your body as you move. And remember, this is a safe space. You may feel vulnerable in a new and unique way. Embrace it! This is a place to eradicate all of your fears.”
“Can I tell her I want to eradicate my fear of my inner thighs rubbing together in shorts?” Janey whispered.
CJ considered it and nodded. “It’s valid.” CJ looked up at Elizabeth Madden’s lithe frame. “I’m so glad she’s skinny. I never trust overweight yoga instructors.”
Janey rolled her eyes. She had no particular antipathy toward overweight yoga instructors. It bugged her that a 200-hour certificate course made them feel and act superior to you in every aspect of life. “Being skinny isn’t the point of yoga,” Janey said, moving her mat inches away from Kindness, who was sitting in lotus position with her eyes closed.
CJ looked at Elizabeth one more time. “Sure, it’s about balance and happiness. But if you’re really balanced and happy, then why aren’t you also thin?”
The Naked Yogini instructed them to close their eyes and focus on their inner child.
“We will begin together with three chants of om.”
Janey sucked a breath deep into her belly, keenly aware that the instructor and anyone who chose to turn her head could see the air rippling through her chest and into her bare stomach. The air somehow became heavy with the scent of jasmine.
“Ommmmm-mmmmm-mmmmm-mm,” the entire class chanted together in unison.
“Ommmmm-mmmmm-mmmmm-mm.”
“You have walked twelve hundred steps today. You are at only ten percent of your goal. Your heart rate is below average,” came an aristocratic British voice from Janey’s wrist.
Shit, Janey thought. How do I turn the FitWand off?? This was the last thing she needed. All the peaceful yogis opened their eyes and craned their necks to stare at her. Anderson Cooper was staring at her with a confused look on his face. She fumbled with the bracelet while trying to cover her exposed nipples with her forearms.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Go on—I mean go om—without me.”
Janey pulled the wretched device off her wrist and laid it flat under her mat, hoping to suffocate the disembodied voice.
To her credit, Elizabeth Madden showed no trace of annoyance. Nothing could fuck up her zen.
“Okay then, one more om and we move into our downward dogs.”
The FitWand continued in its condescending monotone. “Move faster. You need to move faster. You are burning no calories.” Out of the corner of her eye she could see CJ teetering on three limbs instead of four before she collapsed in a heap on her pink yoga mat.
“I can’t put weight on my foot,” CJ whispered.
“I know. That’s why you shouldn’t be here.”