Chapter 73

General stretching commences to music. The class uniformly affects a downward-facing dog yoga pose.

Most can’t achieve the stance, so I am faced with a stupefying backstage vantage point. One especially long scrotum is like a stalactite. It’s like I’ve been slipped a hallucinogen and can view everyone’s tonsils from the opposite end. First grapple, now dodgeballs. I am sonot good with a roomful of strangers. Whatever I’d expected, this isn’t it. Nudercise was supposed to be my Phys. Ed. locker room, where I wouldn’t be shoved around, but my Phys. Ed. locker room did not include gray pubes, genitals lassoed with leather, and at least one Prince Albert.

The instructor exhorts us with motivational phrases.

I try to duplicate the unflattering poses. I stand on my tippy-toes, as Jarod does. I hop on one foot. I hop on the other foot. Everything is slapping. I am poaching in my own fluids and I hope no one slips in it as it washes over my ankle bones like broken downspouts.