For the past two years, naked yoga has been on the top of my bucket list. On a sunny Sunday afternoon in the Flatiron district of Manhattan, I finally crossed it off my list in a class with 8 other students. I’ve always enjoyed finding new ways to see what I can learn about myself. This desire for fresh invigoration has amplified since I cut alcohol out of my lifestyle.
The 8 of us sat in the waiting room, filled out our waivers, and talked about how nervous/excited we were. One guy mentioned that he’d been a few times. “This class gets me out of my comfort zone. I still get butterflies in my stomach before class – and I like that,” he told me. A few minutes before class started, we finally began removing our clothes. We walked, totally nude, into a well-lit yoga room with yoga mats, candles, and Rihanna bumping in the speakers. Our instructor, Joschi, was a German man who exuded confidence from his fit, naked body. He asked how we were feeling, told us jokes to calm us down, and began to guide us through our practice.
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