Page 35 of Gym Bros
He frowns.
“I’m kidding.” Jeez.
Something kind of like a smile flicks at the corners of his mouth, and a sort of laugh comes out. “If you get good at it tonight, you’re welcome to try it at the appropriate time.”
“Cool.”
We walk to the mats, and he kicks off his slides. I do the same. His feet draw my attention again. They’re so smooth and golden—well cared for with perfect nails and symmetrical toes.
“This is called an asana,” he’s saying, “which is basically a series of movements or a flow. There’s a ton of variations, but we’ll just walk through the basics. Parts of it will definitely challenge your hamstrings, but I have some modifications if you need them. It’s basically a warm-up.”
“Yeah, all right. You wanna show me?”
His eyes widen. “Oh, you want me to—? Sure. Yeah. Good idea. Um…”
The way he’s nervous is making me nervous. It’s doing nothing to make me trust the process. Maybe this was a bad idea, but since I’m already here, I sit on the mat and watch him. He talks through the whole thing like he’s teaching a class, mostly keeping his eyes on himself in the mirror.
I recognize a few of the poses. Plank. That awful cobra thing. Downward dog, because everyone knows that one, though I haven’t attempted it yet. The series is quick and graceful, and before I know it, he’s standing up straight again with his hands at his sides, a flush of pink in his cheeks. “That’s it?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“I expected it to be more involved.”
“Like I said, lots of variations, but that’s the foundation. Wanna try?”
“Sure.” I stand, already feeling the tightness in my legs despite how much walking I’ve been doing with Beauty.
We face the mirror, side by side. “Believe it or not,” he says, “this is actually a pose. It’s called mountain pose.”
“Just standing here?”
“Standing straight. May I?” He gestures at my shoulders.
I nod. He moves behind me and presses his hands on them. The tension in me fights the touch, wanting to shrug out of it like I would if I were sparring, but I know that’s not the point here.
“Breathe in, and exhale, dropping your shoulders. Just let your arms hang.”
I do as he says. He puts his hands on the side of my head next and tilts it back slightly.
“Imagine a string here.” He touches just above the crown of my head. “Pulling you up while your feet ground themselves in the floor. It won’t feel natural, but it should feel stable and powerful.”
“Like a mountain?” I ask.
“You got it.”
He’s right. It doesn’t feel natural. I want to drop into a fighting stance and find my balance there instead
His hands return to my shoulders. “Drop them,” he says again.
I inhale sharply, again, feeling zapped by his touch and wanting away from it, or wanting more, or—different. “That’s as dropped as they get.”
He grabs my wrists and pulls my arms down, shoulders going with them. The stretch in my traps is satisfying and assertive. “Nope. They go lower,” he tells me.
I can’t help a small laugh. In the mirror, I get a glimpse of Calyx’s small, satisfied smile.
He returns to stand on his mat. “Next we inhale, lifting our arms overhead.”
I copy what he’s doing.
