The next morning, I'm standing outside Lilah's Light Yoga Studio, hungover and furious. The place looks exactly how I imagined - painted in pastels, crystals hanging in the windows, a wooden sign with flowing script and what appears to be a lotus flower.
Smells like patchouli had a baby with a flower shop when I walk in.
The studio itself is one big room with hardwood floors and floor-to-ceiling windows. There are plants everywhere. Inspirational quotes painted on the walls in looping cursive. Soft music playing from hidden speakers - the kind with wind chimes and ocean sounds.
I want to leave immediately.
"Welcome!"
I turn. The instructor is walking toward me with a smile so bright it physically hurts to look at. She's tiny. This girl can't be more than 5'4" with blonde hair in a high ponytail and wearing head-to-toe pink. Pink leggings that hug curves I shouldn't benoticing, pink sports bra under a loose pink tank top, even pink running shoes.
She looks like a fucking cupcake.
"You must be Geoff! Your friends told me all about you!" She's still smiling. How is she still smiling? "I'm Lilah! I'm so excited to help you on your wellness journey!"
"My friends are assholes."
The smile doesn't even flicker. "That's okay! Anger is just passion without direction. We'll channel that energy into positive movement!"
Kill me now.
"Look, I'm only here because they forced me. I don't believe in this hippie bullshit, and I'm probably going to hate every second of it."
"That's wonderful!" Still smiling. Still so goddamn perky. "Honesty is so important! Let's get you set up with a mat."
She leads me to the back of the room, chattering the whole time about breathing techniques and mindful movement. I tune most of it out, focusing on not limping. My back is on fire already and class hasn't even started.
Five other people trickle in. Two middle-aged women who look like they live at the country club. One guy in his sixties. A younger woman with a baby bump. And a man in his forties who shows up twenty minutes late, disrupting everyone.
"Oh, Kevin! No worries!" Lilah immediately stops mid-instruction to accommodate him. "We're just getting started! Let me grab you a mat!"
She apologizes. To him. For him being late.
The class starts, and I'm immediately out of my depth. Everyone else seems to know what they're doing, flowing from one position to another while I'm stuck trying to figure out which way is up. Lilah comes over frequently to adjust my for.
"You're very tight through here," she murmurs, pressing on my lower back. "Try to breathe into the stretch."
"Trying not to scream," I grunt.
"That's valid! Pain is our body's way of communicating. Listen to what it's saying, but also push gently past your comfort zone."
Despite my cynicism, despite the pain, despite everything - my back actually feels marginally better halfway through the class. The constant stretching and controlled movement is doing something the pills never did.
Which pisses me off, because now I have to come back.
The credit card machine beeps during checkout. Lilah's face falls slightly. "Oh! You can just pay me next time!"
"Are you sure? I could run home and get my checkbook—"
"No, no! It's fine! Don't worry about it!"
Kevin, the guy who was late, is making comments while rolling up his mat. Something about how those pink leggings should be illegal. Something about the view during downward dog.
Lilah laughs. Uncomfortable, high-pitched. Changes the subject quickly instead of telling him to shut the fuck up or get out.
I stay until everyone leaves, pretending to struggle with the mat I'm returning just so I can speak to her alone.
"You always let people walk all over you like that?"
