She's stubborn — she always has been. She knows that, her Momma and Daddy knew that. Everyone knows that. There's just somethin' in Charlotte King that doesn't like being told what to do, even if it's the right thing for her. But she's pregnant now, and it's not just about her, and her muscles are gettin' sore and restless from lack of use. So on Tuesday night, while her boyfriend rushes off to tend to some kind of emotional emergency with his needy best friend, Charlotte pulls on her yoga pants and a tank top, and makes a drive she's made hundreds of times before, but not in the last few months.
She parks, grabs her yoga mat and jumbo water bottle from the back seat, and heads into the building.
Weeks may have passed, and her world may have flipped upside down, but everything here seems the same. Same pale green walls, same rack of yoga wear and pyramid of rolled mats for sale. Same girl behind the counter as she walks up to have her card scanned.
The girl greets her with a smile, as always — although it seems a little brighter today. "Hey, Dr. King! Long time, no see."
"Hi, Tracy." She holds out her member card, and Tracy scans the barcode. "Been a busy few months."
"It's not your usual night," she points out. "Bikram's at 6:30 tonight — you've already missed half of it."
"Yeah, I know…" Charlotte's suddenly nervous, and she can't really figure out why. It's not like nobody knows about this baby yet, but then again… it's not like she's had to up and tell all that many people either. Her hand flutters anxiously for her belly, and she grimaces as she admits, "I'm here for the prenatal class."
Tracy's face goes a little surprised, then she grins, hugely. "Oh, wow — that's awesome!" She catches herself, reins it in a little, then asks, "It is awesome, right?"
"It's… yeah, I guess," Charlotte shrugs. "I'm still gettin' used to it. Can I get a towel?"
"Yeah, of course," she says, reaching for the stack behind her. "How far along are you? Can I ask that? Is that, like, an okay thing to ask someone?"
Something about the awkward hesitance there sets Charlotte at ease — she can't for the life of her say why — and she laughs a little, nodding. "Sure. Twelve and a half weeks."
She catches Tracy sneaking a glance over the counter as she passes her the towel, and Charlotte rolls her eyes, shifting her yoga mat a little so her stomach isn't blocked. "Not much to see yet," she assures. "Sorry to disappoint."
Tracy shrugs. "Not like it's any of my business anyway. But, um, here's the prenatal schedule," she hands over a sheet of paper, "And you have to sign a new waiver," another sheet, "And no more Bikram until after the baby. Oh, and be sure you talk to Rachel — she's the prenatal instructor — She knows a couple of really awesome trainers who specialize in prenatal exercise. You've always been in really great shape, so, y'know, you can probably handle some of the higher impact stuff if you're working with someone who knows your new limits. And Rachel has a prenatal Pilates class on Saturday afternoons. It's really hard to get a spot sometimes, but I can, y'know…" She glances around to make sure nobody is within earshot, lowering her voice a little when she offers, "Maybe sign you in early if you want…? If you promise to show."
And this is why you buy Christmas gifts for the check-in staff, Charlotte thinks to herself, knowing that showing just that little bit of extra kindness over the last year is paying off right this minute.
She leans in conspiratorially and tells her, "Definitely. Thank you. I'll be there." A quick signature on her new waiver, and Tracy directs her back to the third studio on the left.
She tried to cut it a little close, time-wise, but clearly wasn't close enough. There's a half dozen other women in here, all chatting away, their bellies in various states of bulge. Charlotte's throat goes dry. God, is she going to be expected to socialize? And is she going to have to spend the whole class lookin' at that? At the swollen, waddling monstrosity she's about to become?
It's a little too real for her, a little too much, so she finds a spot on the far wall, and busies herself by furtively checking emails on her BlackBerry. She's not supposed to have her phone in the studio, she knows, but it's on silent, and she'll break the rules if it means keepin' her from gettin' sucked into some kind of mommy and me playgroup crap. And besides, she's an important woman. She has emails. Important emails. That's her excuse, and she's stickin' to it.
Thankfully, the room fills up quickly, and class starts exactly on time. Rachel is friendly, but not saccharine or way too into the whole wishy-washy New-Agey baby babble, so the class is bearable. Her muscles are grateful for the use, but tender in a way she wasn't expecting, the stretches deeper than she remembers, now that she's been away so long. She shuts her eyes, focuses on the feel, on her breath, on the way her body seems just a little different now in ways she hadn't quite realized yet. She tries to drown out every adjustment to a pose that doesn't apply to her, not wanting to hear how her body's about to start hindering her.
It distracts her the whole time, and she can't quite get herself to that relaxed, loose-limbed place yoga usually takes her, but she tries to tell herself that it's still a step up from all the sittin' at home tryin' not to puke she's been doin' for most of the last few weeks.
The class is over a little sooner than she expects, and she keeps her head down and eyes to herself as she rolls up her mat, and the thrum of conversation picks up again. It's lower now, quiet, respectful of the relaxed place everyone's supposed to be in. That's something, at least.
Charlotte waits until most of them have filed out, and then approaches the instructor. "Hi. Rachel, right?"
"Yeah," She turns, smiles. Why is everyone so damned cheerful in this place? And why is it bothering her all of a sudden? "You're new. How'd you like it?"
"Not my first day of yoga," Charlotte assures, and Rachel shakes her head quickly.
"Oh, I could tell that. I meant you're new to prenatal." She lifts her water bottle to her lips, takes a sip.
"Right. Yes. I am." Charlotte adjusts the carrying strap of her mat.
"So, how'd you like it?" she repeats, and Charlotte jerks her shoulder a little.
"It was good," she answers quickly. "Good."
"You're a little tense for post-yoga," Rachel points out, and Charlotte figures Screw it.
"I'm still tryin' to fit into my regular pants. Starin' at a lot of really pregnant women isn't exactly bringin' me to a Zen place."
"Ah," Rachel tells her, knowingly. "Believe it or not, that's not uncommon."
"Is the gabbin' their faces off not uncommon either? Because I'm a woman who likes a little more quiet, and a little less yappin' around my yoga class."
"Tuesday night's a chatty bunch," Rachel tells her apologetically. "Try Thursday. The Thursday class is quieter, and oddly less pregnant. A lot of mid-second trimester women, you'll fit right in. Either way, come early. Get a spot in the front, and you'll get less of an eyeful."
Charlotte nods slowly, takes in the info. "Thanks for the advice. Tracy mentioned you knew some good trainers? Could I get some names? I run — or, I guess, I used to, but, uh…"
"Yeah, of course." She bends easily, reaches into her bag, and pulls out a couple of business cards, handing them to Charlotte. "Be careful with running — you're more injury prone when you're pregnant. Your center of balance is off, your ligaments are changing… There's no reason you can't do a moderate jog every now and then — but I'd recommend the gym. A treadmill. Something you can control."
"Yeah, thanks," Charlotte murmurs, flipping through the business cards. She taps them against her hand as she looks back up, and offers Rachel a smile. "I've gotta run. But thanks again."
"Sure, no problem," Rachel reaches down, hefts her bag to her shoulder, and Charlotte knows she needs to beat it out of here if she doesn't want to be strolling out with the instructor. "See you Thursday?"
Charlotte tells her that yes, she will, then heads for the door.
Pete was right, she knows. This is good for her — or it will be, once she settles into it — but she wishes her first night had left her feelin' a little less daunted.
It's just yoga, she tells herself. You come back in two days, and you do it again, and you keep comin' until it doesn't make you feel this way.
Still, she feels sulky and blue the whole drive home.