An Excuse Not to Exercise
I waited outside the yoga class, feeling every bit like a middle schooler abandoned by her friends. The instructor was nowhere to be seen. Sweaty men grunted over weight machines. Others pounded the treadmill. A desk worker stared into the void. Had I gotten the time wrong? I pulled out my phone, opened the app, and found the schedule in black and white. Yoga stretch at 7 a.m. This was the location listed. I arranged my mat. Placed my shoes perpendicular to the wall. Took an unnecessary sip of water. No one looked in my direction. The clock said 7:05. An older woman sauntered into the gym. She wore leggings, a long T-shirt, and sandals. Her body was goals—toned, muscular, effortless. Relief washed over me like a cleansing breath. “Are you taking this yoga class?” I asked. She stopped, glancing at my bare feet. “No. I don’t do that kind of stuff.” “Oh.” “Exercise,” she clarified. “I don’t exercise.” “Noted.” Would this be an okay time to point out she was currentl...