Fat Chance by Brandi Kennedy Page B

ridiculous elastic pants that Chelsea made me buy, but I drew the line on a matching top. I don't care if it's not typical yoga clothing; I'm going to wear one of my comfy t-shirts. There is absolutely nothing that will convince me to wear one of those spandex shirt things. Jeez, I don't even dress like that in front of myself.
     
    Pulling into the parking lot of the yoga studio, I look down at myself with a grimace. I've still been using the techniques that I've Iearned from Dr. Caswell, and I still feel that I'm growing in confidence and doing much better. The antidepressant helps, too; I don't think of suicide anymore, no matter how low I'm feeling. Other than to think about whether I've thought about it, and then comment that I haven't.
     
    Still, right now, I'm feeling downright gross. I've pulled my dark hair into a messy bun to keep it out of my face, and I've chosen to wear a plain black t-shirt. It's not a huge, baggy thing, but it's certainly not figure hugging either; I'm wearing it for camouflage. Besides, it matches the plain black pants I was forced to buy, pants that hug my hips to remind me of how large they are. I have to admit, they are pretty comfortable though. If they had pockets, I might just live in them.
     
    Another car pulls up beside me, and a slender goddess hops out. She's got blonde hair down to her slim hips, which she somehow manages to whip into a cute bun without a brush or mirror. She's like a little sexy marshmallow peep, with cheerful yellow pants that have a white line down each side, and a snug white tank top. Of course, she's wearing sparkling white sneakers; she's a picture of perfection.
     
    Too bad I took so long being intimidated; as I sit there watching this girl who can probably wrap her own legs around her head, I debate pulling out of the lot and going home. I debate telling Renee that I'm sick, or that I forgot the class was today.
     
    I debate too long, and Renee is suddenly there, leaning over and knocking on the passenger window of my car. It's too late, now I'm stuck.
     
    Crap.
     
    "Hey, Renee! I didn't even see you pull up!" I exclaim, pretending that I've been waiting for her, that I haven't been fighting my natural instinct to stand her up and go home.
     
    "Uh huh," she says dryly. "I kind of noticed. Here, I brought you an extra yoga mat." She hands me a rolled up purple yoga mat, and now I'm more terrified than I was to begin with. Not only am I sure that I can't flex in the way that I will be asked to, but I'm pretty positive there's no way I can do it while trying not to roll off the yoga mat like a greased turkey that's out of control.
     
    "Don't worry," Renee says, looping her arm through mine. She's gentle about it, but she's pulling me a little, urging me into the humiliation that I know is waiting for me.
     
    It isn't that I'm unfit. My apartment is actually up four flights of stairs, and I take the stairs instead of the elevator on purpose, at least once a day. I park far from stores so that I have to walk farther, and I don't actually mind doing work out stuff. What I don't like, is working out in front of other, thinner people.
     
    I take a deep breath and remind myself of today's quote, a rare nugget of wisdom from an unbelievable source. I have no idea how Paris Hilton made it into my quote book, but she did have a little strike of genius when she said, "No matter what a woman looks like, if she's confident, she's sexy."
     
    Walking into the building and letting Renee tug me gently down the hall, I chant that quote to myself in my mind, trying to bring back the confident girl that I felt like at the family reunion.
     
    I'm confident, I'm sexy. I'm confident, I'm sexy. I'm confident, I'm sexy.
     
    No, I'm not. I'm a fat girl in a yoga class.
     
    In the yoga studio, I'm horrified to see that all the walls are covered in mirrors. Now, not only do I get to see a room full of thin and flexible girls doing things I only wish I could do, but I also