But I do. Constantly. I can’t remember a time before I was acutely aware of every inch of my body: every muscle, curve, and soft spot. Dimitri taught us that our bodies were our tools, the same way an artist would use a paintbrush. That’s why we had to be so strict and disciplined with the way we ate and worked out, he explained. And at the time, it all made sense: the intense diets, the weekly weigh-ins, the way he punished us with hours of conditioning if we overate or gained weight. Every week, he’d jot down our height, weight, and measurements in a little blue notebook. He wore a withering expression when we failed him, whether we gained a pound or confessed to eating a slice of pizza. That expression still flashes across my mind every time the waistband of my jeans digs into my stomach or I consider indulging in a dessert.

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” I say. It’s awkward to realize that Sara can tell exactly how I feel about my body. “Old habits die hard, you know?”

Sara gives me a kind smile. “Yoga totally transforms the way your mind relates to your physical self. You’ll see. I bet you’ll like it.”

An hour later, she leads me into Mind & Body Yoga. The studio has shiny wooden floors, a row of leafy green plants at the front of the room, and soothing music wafting from the speakers. The other participants in the class—mostly twenty- and thirty-something women, but a few teenagers and a handful of men, too—unroll colorful yoga mats facing the front of the room and begin to stretch. Sara hands me an extra mat, along with two foam blocks.

“In case you need to prop yourself up to get through some of the more challenging poses,” she explains quietly.

I try not to scoff, but come on. I’m a former elite gymnast. I think I can survive an hour of yoga.

Sara sets up her own mat horizontally at the front of the room. When the studio is mostly full, she kicks off class by encouraging us to lie down in a comfortable position. I expected everyone to lie flat on their backs, but I’m surprised by the variations: legs splayed out, knees butterflied out to the sides, heads propped up by foam blocks. Sara leads the class through a breathing exercise in a melodic, trance-like voice.

“In through your nose,” she intones with a kind but serious expression. “Out through your mouth. And then, when you’re ready, another inhale.”

After what feels like eons of breathing, Sara slowly leads the class into a sitting position, and encourages us to emit an om on the count of three.

“One, two, three, all together, now, om…” she says.