Page 55 of Girls Will Be Girls
Frida:
Rage fucked him yet?
Louisa:
Angrier than that
Frida:
Rage made him go down on you yet?
It’s 8 AM,and I once again planned a morning activity after staying up too late. I grab my water bottle from the counter to start the walk down into town. The air is slightly crisp this morning, which is a welcome change from the consistent layer of damp sweat I’ve had all over me since before I even got here.
I walk down the road to the other side of town, where there is less foot traffic and fewer beaches. There’s a grassy opening by the water, and the large boulders all around would make itimpossible to swim, but the lapping of the lake against the rocks and the perfectly soft and flat surface make it perfect for a yoga session.
Out of all the group activities I need to do for my job, exercise classes are my least favorite.
It feels like a spectacle.
Like forced fun.
I find it tends to be a weird atmosphere like we’re all there to put on a show of how good we are, all judging each other, and for someone with a persistent need to look like they know what they’re doing and are the best at it, it becomes far too much of a competition. A competition I could never actually win because I never know what I’m doing.
I once tried a spinning class, thinking the dark lighting and loud music would be perfect because no one would be able to see me, but then the class started, and these bright spotlights lit us up, and there were mirrors on every wall, meaning everyone could see everything.
It was the most stressful hour of my life, and then I couldn’t unclip myself from the bike and had to ask for help.
I’ve never been back.
Usually though, yoga is the one class I can tolerate. Mainly because you tend to be twisted and upside down enough that you can’t see what everyone else is doing, it lets me concentrate on myself for once, and not what everyone else thinks about me.
Not that I don’t still imagine what they’d be thinking if they curled out of their poses and watched me, but it’s less likely to happen in a class like this.
It’s the quietest my mind can be in a crowd of people purposely sweating.
It also gives me an excuse to wear a cute matching yoga set.
Besides, maybe some breathing exercises will help me relax and not think about drowning Lou in the lake out of spite.
I join the small group picking out yoga mats and choosing blocks or blankets. The yoga instructor greets me with a warm smile as I take a mat. I don’t even go near the accessories out of fear of not knowing how to use them and making a fool of myself.
There’s only a handful of us, and we spread out to find a spot to stretch out. I choose a patch at the back corner close to the road, thinking everyone else is going to try for a lake spot, leaving me alone up here and with no one behind me able to watch.
We start the practice with some sun salutations, extending our arms out wide and back to our chest, our yoga instructor telling us to breathe in the air and welcome the morning. After a few bends and stretches on the ground we’re up on our feet in a downward dog position, butts in the air. We move through a vinyasa, flexing into a plank and down onto our stomachs before rising back up butt first. We repeat the flow a few times, always introducing a new move, each one tougher than the last. I can feel the sweat start to bead at my chest, dripping down my sports bra when I’m upright, and onto my neck when I’m upside down.
I exhale audibly back into another down dog position, bending my legs one by one, feeling how my calves stretch when a soft touch lands on my wrist.
“Hey.”
I whip my gaze up under my armpit to the familiar whisper next to me.
“I wanted to talk to you.” He says quietly, still holding my clammy skin.
I look around, swaying my loose ponytail on the ground, butt still very much in the air.
“Can’t it wait?” I bite back in a hushed tone, looking to see if anyone is looking at us.
“Now fold down into a pigeon pose.”The instructor says calmly at the front.
