Yoga for Beginners (Patreon)

This was exactly why Liz never tried new physical activities.

“Now, we’re going to lean forward and really elongate our spines…” the instructor intoned.

Liz was trying what felt like her damn hardest, but it was a struggle. No, not a struggle–a failure. She was sitting in the middle of a yoga class, right leg bent at a right angle in front of her, left leg stretched back. That had been pretty fine and dandy. Her hips had protested some, but after a little adjusting, it was fine. But the leaning forward? She’d known it would be a problem as soon as the direction left the instructor’s mouth.

She’d dutifully leaned forward, and had immediately felt the pressure in her middle as her belly came into contact first with the top of her thigh, then her calf, and finally the floor. And still, she had to keep leaning, because she’d hardly leaned forward at all. She glanced around at the other class attendees. She’d seen a few chubbier women walk in, but the ones close to her were all startlingly slim. They were all gracefully bent forward, little smiles on their faces as they enjoyed the stretch.

Meanwhile, Liz was red-faced and struggling to breathe, her diaphragm so compressed she could only suck in the tiniest amount of air at a time. And was she sweating? She could feel a few beads appearing along her brow. Her back was forced into an arch to try and accommodate her fat gut, unlike everyone else whose backs were flat as boards. She was doing her best to hold it, wondering if she should do the embarrassing thing and use her hands to manually shift her belly around into a more comfortable position so she could get closer to doing the proper pose and also get more than two molecules of oxygen into her lungs at a time. But god, having to do that in a room full of skinny people, with the instructor looking on, would be so embarrassing–and by the time she’d finally decided to do it, the instructor was asking them all to sit up straight and take deep breaths.

Liz tried not to gulp in air, but she could feel a few other attendees glancing at her. Was she really being that loud? Before she could fully catch her breath, the instructor told them all to switch legs, putting the left in front and the right behind them, and Liz realized she was going to have to do the same thing again.

She got over her embarrassment and did her best to shift her squishiest bits, plopping her belly into place. Things were a little better after that, but still uncomfortable. She could sort of breathe, at least. She tried not to feel the glances as she manipulated her own flab around, or hear the faint scoff of disgust from someone to her right. She kept telling herself it was a beginner’s class and that she had every right to be there. She’d paid for it, dammit!

How unfortunate, then, that the class kept on like that. Her frustration and irritation wouldn’t abate. She blamed herself and her body first, but as her brows knit together during yet another pose where her flab kept getting in the way (really, it was all of them, to varying degrees), she had to wonder: had the instructor never thought about how a fat person might need to adjust these poses to get the same effect? Liz had a strong suspicion she hadn’t. The instructor walked around the room at points, assisting people and nudging them into more correct versions of poses. She didn’t approach Liz even once, even though it was obvious Liz was struggling more than anyone else.

By the end of the hour-long class, everyone else looked languid and relaxed, muscles lengthened and joints limber. Liz was damp and sweaty, whole body flushed with anger. She marched out of class with her yoga mat tucked under a plump arm, chugging water like she’d spent the last hour jogging.

Being angry, she ended up making bad decisions. Rather than trying to find something else to do in the gym that she knew she was capable of and that wouldn’t make her feel like she was choosing to be slapped in the face, she headed straight to the parking lot. “New routine my ass,” she grumbled as she pushed that same ass out of the way so she could buckle her seatbelt. She felt like she was being punished for trying. In the back of her mind, she knew that there would be other days, other classes, other movements that wouldn’t feel like punishment. In the moment, though, with irritation that had blossomed into near-rage that she had no direction for coursing through her veins? Well. All she could think to do was eat. Pizza felt like just the ticket. She would eat gooey cheese and gnaw through chewy crust until she felt too full to be pissed off.

Normally she would’ve ordered ahead to try and minimize her time in the store, but she’d been too busy speeding across town to think of it. She parked as close as she could get to the entrance. It was only once she exited her car that she realized she was still in her workout clothes, and she felt another flush of embarrassment. It was one thing to wear form-fitting leggings that hugged the hang of her belly and her wide, dimpled ass and a sports bra that dug into her side rolls and boosted up her massive cleavage inside the gym; wearing it as she walked into a pizza restaurant and truly felt like the fattest person on earth was another. She was deeply aware that she hadn’t showered before coming, and was still damp with sweat. Thank god her deodorant was still working.

Her unfortunate luck meant she actually had to wait in line to order, giving the folks eating in plenty of time to take in her flabby body and make their judgements. She reminded herself it was worth it because she would at least get some pizza in the end. The anxiousness only sharpened her appetite, and by the time it was her turn to order, she couldn’t help but rattle off an order large enough for a party, throwing in side dishes and cups of fattening dip and cheesy breadsticks on top of the three pizzas she asked for.

The size of her order meant she had to wait far longer than she would’ve liked (even though it was barely twenty minutes). She struggled to carry it all out herself, her body once again getting in her way. It felt more than a little ridiculous that she was trying to start a gym habit and maybe lose a few pounds, but mostly increase her strength and mobility, and then wind up so pissed off at her physical shortcomings–or, more bluntly, the fact that her fat gut and arms and everything else were always in the way–that the only solution she saw was to stuff her face.

“Whatever,” she sighed as she started the car again, taking a deep inhale of the scent of pizza suffusing her vehicle. Tomorrow was another day.