Page 40 of Big Pitch Energy

Yeah. I’m back.

Hope

The last beginner class of the day was absolutely chaotic, and that was putting it mildly. January always brought in the resolution crowd, but this year felt different, like every single person in town had decided thatthiswould be the year they’d finally get their act together. Bodies were packed into every corner of the studio standing on wall-to-wall yoga mats, all slightly askew like drunken dominos.

I weaved between sweaty beginners, adjusting postures and offering modifications.

“Remember to breathe,” I whispered to Janet Mills as she attempted warrior two like she was wrestling with an invisible opponent. “The pose should serve you, not the other way around.”

By the time we reached savasana, I think I was more exhausted than half the students. Ava usually leads this class solo, but with the overflow crowd, I'd jumped in to help.

As students rolled up their mats and filtered out with promises to “definitely come back next week,” I walked into my office and spotted my phone on the desk, screen glowing with a missed text from Sam.

Just finished. Heading home now

How did it go?

Better than expected. Velocity was solid, command felt good.

That's amazing!

Thanks. Still processing everything.

My last class just ended and I’m heading to The Tavern with Ava. I’ll call you when I get home?

Perfect.

Drive safe

Ray is at the wheel. I’m just a passenger princess.

I slipped the phone into my leggings just as Ava walked through the door.

“Ready?" she asked, as she grabbed her tote bag.

“God, yes. I’m starving.”

The chilly air felt good after the heat of the studio as we walked the three blocks to The Starlight Tavern. Early Saturday evenings here were predictable in the best way—locals unwinding from the week, college kids home for the weekend, and the comforting hum of conversation mixing with whatever game played on the mounted TVs.

We slid into our usual booth and within minutes, our server appeared with raised eyebrows.

“Let me guess,” she said. “Two burgers, medium, extra pickles for Hope, sub sweet potato fries for Ava, and a pitcher?”

“Perfect,” I said.

“You know us too well, Sarah,” Ava laughed.

We do order different things during the week, but for some reason, that’s our usual Saturday order.

Sarah stepped away to put our orders in and returned a minute later with our pitcher. Ava filled our mugs and once we each took a healthy sip, she leaned back and fixed me with a look that I knew meant business.

“Alright,” she said, setting her glass down with purpose. “Spill it.”

“Spill what?”

“Don't even try that with me. Something's been eating at you since you got back from that wedding with Sam, and I'm tired of pretending I don't notice. Clearly you’re not going to spill unless I drag it out of you, so consider this me dragging.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I tried weakly, but even I could hear how unconvincing it sounded.

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