Nope.
It’s easier if I just don’t go there in the first place.
“Okay, we’ll start with a forward fold modification.” I smile at the sea of people I’ve got joining me tonight. The energy feels good. “Once you’re comfortable sitting, I invite you all to bring the soles of your feet together, knees bent, lotus style and to reach forward as far as you can go. Don’t worry if you’re not that flexible, just allow the weight of your head to hang low. From here, we’re going to take three big inhales, holding at the top for a few seconds and then releasing out through our mouths. Are we ready?”
The slight shuffle of fabric moving ensues as my class bends into position.
I grip my two big toes, and forward fold, peeking between my legs to make sure the wetness coating my knickers isn’t leaving a dark wet spot on my grey coloured leggings.
Not a wet spot in sight, thank fuck.
I lead my class through three more yoga poses; cat cow to stretch out the vertebrae in their backs, downward dog to stretch out the hamstrings and child’s pose to work out the knots often carried between their shoulder blades.
“Are we all feeling good and relaxed? No pain?”
A murmuring chorus of “all good” flows back to me from the participants of my class, a few of whom are familiar looking but most of who appear new to my class.
“That’s what I like to hear,” I praise, a smile causing my lips to rise at the corners. “So, we’re going to take a corpse pose. Don’t worry, it’s not as scary as it sounds. We’re going to come to lie flat on our backs, arms down by our sides, legs out long and feet relaxed.”
I stay seated, my legs crossed, so I can keep an eye on everybody.
“Bring the palm of your left hand to your heart centre and your right hand to your stomach. Inhale in deeply through your nose, feeling that stomach and ribcage expanding upwards to meet your hand. I invite each of you to allow your eyelids to droop closed, this is a safe space here, but if closing your eyes isn’t comfortable for you, perhaps you can drop that gaze. From here, I want you all to take another deep breath, as we prepare to clear the mind. This won’t be easy, especially for anyone who’s new to this practise, but I promiseit willbecome easier with time. Eventually, you will find you have the tools inside yourself to actually quieten that often busy mind.”
For the next hour or so, I lead my Thursday evening class through their guided meditation, desperately trying to do as I’m teaching my class; to focus on my breathing, invite in stillness and clear my mind of any thoughts.
It works for a few minutes at a time, before the image of Hudson, getting all hot and sweaty on the rowing machine, bursts back into my mind.
I breathe out an exasperated sigh, noticing the way one of the women in the front row twitches in her relaxed pose. It’s as if the frustrated energy I’ve just expelled has latched onto her instead, and that’s certainly not what I want for the participants in my class.
I’m supposed to be teaching clearing and relaxing, not how to get all pent up and bothered.
“Don’t be frustrated with yourself if clearing your mind isn’t happening as quickly as you’d like it to.” I sigh, once again redirecting my attention to the beating pulse of my heart beneath my ribcage; tissue, sinews and all. “Each meditation class is different, eachdayis different, because we’re carrying with us different emotions and baggage of whatever may haveoccurred for you today, this week, maybe even this month. But I’m here to remind you, and myself, that meditation is a practise, and each time you meditate, you’re showing up for yourself. That’s the important part.”
Once my second vanilla scented incense stick of the evening has burnt to its end, I gently guide the class out of the mediative state and back into consciousness. Sleepy grins and content faces peer back at me.
“Great class tonight, everybody.” I smile softly. “I hope to see you all again very soon.”
After the last person has bid me a goodnight, I make sure the windows of the studio are shut tight, sling my gym bag over my shoulder, slide my feet into my beaten-up trainers and lock the door behind me. I zip my puffer jacket up to my chin, chastising myself for forgetting my scarf this morning, especially after I’ve just gotten over a terrible cold, and set off in the unforgiving January wind.
Thankfully, my apartment block isn’t too far away from work – a ten minute walk or so – but it feels much longer when the cold is taking biting chucks out of my exposed cheeks.
My apartment on the sixth floor is only slightly warmer than being outside.
Kicking off my trainers and dumping my gym bag, I jab my thumb into the up arrow on the thermostat. My bank account could do without it – especially since it’s already taken quite a dent when I paid my rent on the first of the month and I know the fridge and cupboards could do with a restock of fresh groceries – but I can’t afford to get sick again and miss another week of work.
Hearing the pipes clang inside the walls to signal the heat turning on, I pad to the kitchen, flick the kettle on and prepare myself a hot cup of camomile tea.
Once boiled, I take the mug into my bedroom, shoving a nearly empty tube of lip balm and my pillow spray out of the way on my bedside cabinet to make some room.
Crawling on top of the creased covers – seriously, who has time to iron that motherfucker when it comes out of the dryer? – I mindlessly scroll through my phone, not even pausing the trawl of my thumb to take a sip of my tea.
I call it simple curiosity that has me pulling up the website to the gym I work at, bypassing the ‘Welcome’ page and heading straight to the ‘Meet the Team’ tab.
Not him.
Not him.
Not him.
