Instead of continuing the pity party I started yesterday, I woke up this morning with fresh perspective and decided to figure out a way to reinvigorate my exercise routine. I quickly realized this meant I had to do something I’ve been putting off for more than two years—take a class at Yoga Studio 43.

My friend, Nikki Taylor, owns Yoga Studio 43. Several years ago I ran into her at Kroger a few days after she returned home form a month-long yoga instructor training. I encouraged her to open a studio and assured her if she did I would take a class. When I said that, I meant it. And even though I’ve been practicing yoga for several years at home, my embarrassment with my weight would prove to be a huge barrier in keeping that promise.

I’ve know Nikki since she was in her early 20’s. We worked together at Sableux Salon & Spa where I did HR and she was a receptionist while she was attending hair school. I always liked Nikki, and being 10+ years older than her, I approached her as a little sister, which she seemed to embrace. Back then she was anxious, hard-working and ambitious but lacked focus and direction in her career. I’m sure it’s not hard to imagine why we connected and how I hoped to help her avoid some of the career mistakes I had made at her age. Once she decided hair wasn’t her future, Nikki left the salon but we remained in loose contact.

I watched Nikki’s success from afar through Facebook and Instagram. Many of my peers were regulars and my cousin, Kara, was a huge fan of Nikki and her studio. Every six months or so, I’d run into her at Kroger where she’d share her milestones—hiring another instructor, moving to a bigger, better studio, adding new equipment and classes—and she’d always invite me to a the studio. I’d always accept, but deep down I knew I wouldn’t go until I got into better shape.

So this morning, I quickly registered for the “warm” yoga class, not allowing myself time to reconsider because I knew once I committed, there was no turning back. Yoga preoccupied my thoughts all day. I stressed about what I would wear and what to expect when I got there. I text my cousin, Kara, and asked if she planned to be in tonight’s class. I don’t think she had, but she rearranged her schedule to meet me and offer moral support.

Two minutes into the five minute drive to the studio, my eyes welled up with tears. The shame of not supporting my friend like I had promised, the fear that I wouldn’t physically be able to keep up and the self-consciousness surrounding my body hit me hard and I started to cry. My anxiety was through the roof.

Then I walked into the studio. The moment I saw Nikki, she hugged me long and hard. All my fears melted away even though my tears kept flowing. She gave me the grand tour, made sure I had all the necessary accessories and assured me that yoga is appropriate for all experience levels and that I’d be just fine.

Then I entered the 92 degree “warm” studio—a great place to be when your eyes and nose are running from uncontrollable crying. Thankfully, my always-prepared cousin brought an extra towel for me. She also shared all the reasons she loves the studio as we waited for everyone to get settled and for class to start, which was a great distraction.

When class started, Nikki commanded the room, but in a warm and welcoming way. She was fun, encouraging, informative and confident—all things I recognized just under the surface so many years ago. She encouraged us to focus on our breathing, which was difficult with tears and snot streaming, but I forged ahead.

Watching someone do work they love and in an environment they created is magical. I was doing my best to pay attention to my body, but I was wholly distracted by how proud I am of the remarkable woman Nikki has grown into. She’s created a safe place to tend to our minds and bodies and brought this to a community that desperately needed it.

After all was said and done, I did every pose and only required one slight modification. I worked hard, sweated a ton and stopped crying halfway through, which really aided in my breathing technique. I had a wonderful experience that I would recommend to anybody, any skill level and any body type. And most importantly I finally got around to supporting my friend like I promised, even if it was two years late. See, I’m no poser.

Based in Northern Kentucky, Midlife Pickle is a blog by Mollie Bentley exploring the shock that she is smack dab in the middle of life.

Jun 25 I'm No Poser

Based in Northern Kentucky, Midlife Pickle is a blog by Mollie Bentley exploring the shock that she is smack dab in the middle of life.

Jun 25 I'm No Poser

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